Of Bloodied Fields and Tainted Souls
by SeverusLuciusAbraxasMalfoy
Summary: When War reclines in your backyard, you'd best have more in your arsenal than foolish hope.
1. The Beginnings of a Plan

"We need a plan."

"I would think we already have one."

"Love," the word was spat out, "is NOT a plan, in fact there is nothing planned about that over-glorified version of hormones."

"I do wish you do not quite mean that."

"And if I did?"

"It would sadden me," a pause, "and I would not wish to think of that possibility."

"Hardly. You never fail to remind me."

"Do I?" A chuckle, "alright, why do you think this will not work?"

"Firstly, there is no plan," a raised hand to cut off protests, "and secondly, it may be useful on Him, but what of his men?"

"The Order..."

"... Is comprised of powerful, but aging," a pointed look, "people who will no sooner keel over than dash through thickened forests."

A sigh, "I suppose you are right."

"Quick, where is a Creevey when you need one?"

"You needn't behave as if this is the first time I have agreed with you."

"True, but it usually takes at the least, one session of raised voices and tempers."

"Ah ... sometimes it's hard to realise that there is something else underneath that shell." A pause, "humour for instance."

"Au contraire, I find humour in every moment of my classes."

"Tsk Tsk, not that bad, are they?"

"Ask me when I'm drunk after a particularly trying period."

"Fine, fine. Shall we get back to the topic on hand?"

A raised eyebrow, "One might conceive that the distraction was my fault entirely."

"What were you saying before this ... digression?"

"Merely that some death eaters, dare I say, many of them, would not be prone to this half arsed attempt at defence."

"You've already pointed out flaws, now how do you propose to fix them?"

"Training and strategy."

"Indeed. I do hope you can offer beyond the words themselves."

"Witty. In answer to your very annoying self, I would think we could begin by training in the Dark Arts."

"Oh, surely you jest."

"Do I look like a court jester to your Majesty?"

"But..."

"What will you do when they start throwing dark curses? '_Protego'_ them to death?"

"Of course not, but this is rather drastic!"

"It is the Order members we can trust, have you so little faith in them?"

"You very well know it is more than faith that is at stake here!"

"Yes, but can they not learn?"

"They'd sooner be burned on a stake, I should think."

"Then whom shall we teach? The children?"

"..."

"Oh Great Merlin! Tell me you are not actually considering it!"

"Oh but I am."

"Perhaps I was mistaken after all. Good night."

"Wait! Would you not think it be possible?"

"Anything is possible, if Crabbe Jr. can learn to read. They are children! Do not ask me to be responsible for the corruption of their innocence, limited though it be."

"Hush now, we cannot consider Harry, but Ronald?"

"He is weak. His mind will not resist the lure. Potter is strong, but Dark Magic has a power, and will be assured of returning wholly unchanged?"

"No doubt it leaves none unchanged, but Harry barely fought off Voldemort at the ministry. For a moment, my heart stopped beating. We cannot expect that he will be able to resist after his mind is altered."

"Who would you suggest, oh Omniscient One?"

"Severus..."

"Although Weasley may not be a complete waste of matter in considering strategic planning."

"Why Severus, was that a compliment for the youngest Weasley Boy?"

"Don't try my patience, Albus."

"Quite. And what of Ms. Granger?"

"What of her?"

"Try not to be so difficult. She is admittedly brilliant."

"She is a stubborn Gryffindor know-it-all."

"Not very unlike you when you were a student."

"At least I had some imagination. She is nothing more than an overly adored book worm."

"It is not all that bad, Severus."

"Do not try to convince me otherwise. This from the man who thought _'Love will conquer all'_ was more than just a clichéd overstatement."

"I will ask you to refrain from abusing your freedom of speech here."

The hard edge on the words served their purpose. "As you wish, Headmaster." _The truth always hurts._

"Now, can you please outline your plan, keeping the insults to a minimum?"

"I can try."

The headmaster sighed, "Just as well. Continue."

"If we can induct them over this summer, we can start preparing them to their strengths. You know as well as anyone that the Golden trio will fight together, if at all."

"Yes, there is that. How do you presume to handle this?"

"Lucius is many things, but he is not without love, Albus, and twisted though it is, even Bellatrix loves the Dark Lord. Varied though it be in forms, the essence remains the same. The only person, if you can call him that, who has no inkling of it, is the Dark Lord himself. So, even if Potter does succeed, his followers will not be cowed. They will die trying, except Lucius, who follows no one besides his own agenda," he paused, "He might inflict some damage, in the interest of self preservation."

"I see what you are driving at. I assume you will, by extension, say the same of all the Death Eaters."

"Including this one."

"You are no more a Death Eater than I am."

Snape sneered, and Dumbledore merely looked on serenely.

"Minerva and You can be responsible for Weasley, though it would take considerable effort to deflate his massive head."

"Severus..."

"Alright, alright. I would enjoy trashing him soundly in tests later on."

"You might be surprised."

"I believe I have finished my quota of being surprised."

"And Ms. Granger?"

"I refuse to taint children with this knowledge! It is obscene!"

"And you were no younger when you first learned them."

"Look what that made!"

"Severus, no matter how many times you protest, I refuse to be cowed by your flaunting the Mark."

"You are a fool, then."

"Probably. I always knew foolishness ran in the family."

"Albus..." Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned on the mantle, absently warming his hands against the low fire.

"Try, Severus. Perhaps she deserves more credit than you give. "

Severus swallowed, not quite sure what to say, "She is a child, and more innocent than I ever was."

"I would agree that she is particularly pure, but this is war, Severus, and she has placed herself, knowingly or otherwise, in the thick of it. She is more involved than we could hope against."

"Perhaps."

Albus absently toyed with a quill. "I know it is a terrible thing, but it has to be done, for her own protection as well as for Harry's or Ronald's. Or ours, for that matter."

"It must be done then?"

"I see no other way, Severus, however much it saddens me to say it."

"Potter will train with you and Alastor, Weasley with Minerva, and Ms. Granger with me, unfortunately."

"Quite."

"It occurs to me that neither of the boys would ever be successful in training with me. Potter seems like he would either burst into tears or tear me apart, and Weasley simply looks like he would enjoy causing me pain."

Albus laughed, "I think that applies for most of your students, Severus."

Snape smirked and watched the flames for a while. The headmaster merely waited for him to speak his mind.

"If we had more time, the children could be spared."

"It is later than we think."

"It is that."


	2. Why are you here?

"Why are you here ?"

She refused to be intimidated. Chin up, she stared ahead, "to learn the Dark Arts, Sir."

He paused circling her for a moment before continuing. She could hear the smirk in his voice, "Indeed?"

She nodded, but she was suddenly unsure of her answer. It was what the Headmaster had told her, in as many words.

"Tell me, Ms. Granger," he was somewhere behind her, towards her left, "Do you always trust the headmaster's words?"

She whipped her neck around so fast, it was surprising she didn't hear a crack. How did he...?

"Calm down, Granger. There is no need to assume the worst. You just are an open book."

She glared; he smirked and continued to lean casually against the wall. A room in the dungeons had been allotted to them for their "training sessions" although she was not nearly half sure what training in the Dark Arts meant.

The castle was empty of students, and she had been smuggled here for the remainder of the summer vacation. She was not regretful, however. An opportunity to train one-on-one with the good professor was something she would not pass up.

Although, at this moment, she was not really sure what she was supposed to do.

"You will return to your dormitory," he said in a bored tone, barely sparing her a look before he made to leave.

"Wait, what?" She all but yelled.

"Is it that hard for you to understand such simple directions, Ms. Granger?" he was mocking her.

"I understand perfectly... sir;" she added belatedly, "what I don't understand is why this early? We haven't done anything today!"

"And what precisely did you intend to DO, Ms. Granger?"

That git! "I don't know Sir, you are the teacher here."

"Indeed," he said coldly, "mind your tone."

"Sorry Sir."

He paused to look back at her. It looked as if he was debating over something in his head. A few moments in which she fidgeted, he seemed to come to a decision.

"You are leaving now, because," he affected a put-upon tone, "you simply have no idea why you are here." He raised a hand to cut off her protests, "What you have been told is not the same as what you understand."

She bit her lip and frowned at him. He sighed and shook his head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "obtuse Gryffindors."

"Ms. Granger, why are you here?"

She probably looked as confused as she felt. He seemed to take that as an answer.

"Precisely," he drawled, "Come back tomorrow and we'll see if you have truly understood."

With that, he exited the room, closing the door behind him, leaving her alone with her muddled thoughts.

* * *

"Have an answer yet, Ms. Granger? A reasonable one?" He asked without looking up from his papers.

She was about to ask how he knew it was her, but snapped her jaw shut before she did. It would not help her cause to state the obvious of course.

"Hmm?" he prompted, when no answer came forth.

"Why am I required to train in the Dark Arts, professor?"

He looked up, a hint of a smirk on his face, "my, my, taking the easy way out, are we? A first, I think."

She flushed. She was not exactly taking the easy way out, she argued with herself. It was just frustrating.

Every afternoon he asked her the same question, and she had tried so many times.

"Because I need to learn it."

"Because it is important for us to know."

"Because it is necessary to understand the Dark Arts to defend against it."

And finally, yesterday she blurted out, "Because the headmaster asked?"

To that, he had actually looked like he was going to laugh, but all she saw was a twitch of his lips.

It was alarming that nearly a week had gone by and all she had accomplished was to be ahead of all her classmates in every single subject she had taken.

She had spent hours lounging about the dormitories, common room, library, and the rare time at the lakeside, contemplating his question. At first, she was angry, and then she understood that she really didn't know why she had agreed to this in the first place. "Because the headmaster said so," was the most truthful answer she could come up with.

And of course Snape was as impossible as ever. He shot down every line of reasoning and left her flushed and embarrassed, alone in the classroom, stuck between wanting to smack herself or murder him.

And lately, the murder-him part was winning.

"Tell me, Ms. Granger," he had sneered down at her, "Do you actually know how to think, or is it something you have read about in a book somewhere?"

It was as if he had slapped her, but she refused to cry in front of him, even if her eyes misted and her throat constricted. He would not spare nor tolerate any weakness, she was sure.

She was brought out of her thoughts by a pointed cough. Damn! She had drifted off again, in front of him no less!

"I'm waiting, Ms. Granger," he raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know sir," she dropped her head, "all I keep thinking about is how I think I should know this side of magic because, somehow, I need to," she paused and looked at him then. Strangely, he didn't seem too eager to rip her to shreds yet, so she continued.

"I think we, or the Order, needs to learn the enemy's tactics, so we can defend better, but I would think Harry would be the one required to learn this stuff, or even Ron, but I don't have any clue why I am here, and not them."

"If I told you, that in order to even touch the surface of the Dark Arts were to change someone, where would that lead your thoughts?"

She stared in surprise. He was actually prompting her? Without a sneer even!

"We are not a codfish, Ms. Granger."

She snapped her mouth shut and tried to concentrate, "Like how excessive indulgence in the Arts has made Vol- ... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" She winced at his glare. Alright, no dark lord name game then.

He merely nodded, and she continued, "if Harry were to learn, and knowing that he has a bit of Him inside," she frowned, "then... there is a greater change affected in him?"

"Indeed."

Oh. OH!

"Oh! That means, the ways in which they are different, diminishes! He won't be able to fight the Dark Lord if he is able to sympathise with him!"

"Finally, neurons sparking up are they?"

She flushed. In Snape-Speak, it was his approving of her line of thought. Her small triumph was not complete, however.

"But Ron? Won't he be here alongside? I mean, if he were to also learn..." her mind thought back to Snape's words. If Dark Arts somehow made a person, well, darker, then they would need to have excellent self control not to give in. Ron, dear though he was, was far too prone to bouts of jealousy, and other unsavoury feelings, so it would have to be...

"Ron's too weak to learn this and not be tempted, isn't it?"

"Quite."

"But then, why me?"

"Why indeed?"

Argh! He was infuriating! "Please professor, how can you, or the headmaster, be sure that I will not be tempted?"

"The headmaster seems to think that you will not. Whether I agree with him or not is immaterial."

He bowed his head back to the papers, and Hermione felt a pang of disappointment.

"You are here, Ms. Granger, because you are another pawn in the headmaster's extraordinary game of chess, and..." he paused to look up at her face, which was showing open surprise and disbelief, "because if you insist on dragging yourself and the Weasley boy into all the quagmires that Potter seems inclined to explore, it might just save your lives."

She was sure she was gaping again.

"Dismissed."


	3. What Dark Arts?

"What comes to your incredibly chaotic mind when you hear of Dark Arts, Ms. Granger?"

She ignored the jibe; was getting better at ignoring the barbs around the actual question actually.

"Evil, sir."

"Evil?"

She knew she shouldn't have sounded like something out of a Disney story. The poor little seamstress threatened by the evil uncle or some such rot. The disdain in his voice was proof enough that no, unfortunately, she did sound like an ignorant fool.

"Dark Arts are Evil, is that it, Ms. Granger?" She briefly wondered how he could make the word Evil sound like a joke from a 70's movie.

"Hmm?" He prompted, a little more edge to his voice when no answer came from her.

"Well, you asked what came to mind and I answered promptly," she paused, "Sir." Git.

"Ah, I see," he paused thoughtfully, scratching his chin with his wand before looking back at her. She wanted to say that maybe no, he didn't really see?

"And a cheering charm, Ms. Granger?"

"Sir? Oh, you mean what I think of when ...?" She trailed off, knowing that yes, he thought her an annoying child who had to repeat the obvious. "Well, err, fun...Sir?"

Could she hope that the look on his face was a mask of pure approval and not the one of blatant derision that it looked like?

"Fun?" He made it sound like the dissected insides of a particularly slimy flobberworm.

"Umm." Git.

"Can you think of how it can be used for purposes that are not... _Fun_?"

"Well, it is classified as a charm and not a hex or a curse, used for temporarily lifting the spirits of the intended target... err.. person."

"Well done for the verbatim definition from the prescribed syllabus. I never doubted your ability to parrot any book that might have been subjected to your need for...perusal."

Oh the GIT! He made it sound as if she abused books! Oh hang on; didn't he also call her a parrot-y book worm? Well, everyone did, but to even insinuate that she handled BOOKS in a less than reverent manner... why the nerve!

Hermione felt the anger bubbling inside, and it was only a good few seconds later that he heard his voice inside her head, mocking her, and a few more when she realised that she had not been imagining it.

"How dare you!" She screeched, and he withdrew lazily, haughtily from her mind, "You didn't let me prepare for your entry! I had no warning!"

"Enough!"

She fell quiet at this, the venomous glare his smirk had transformed into, something completely more unpleasant than usual.

"Do not think for a Moment, Ms. Granger, that you will be allowed to take such liberties with me as raising your voice or questioning my motives," he loomed over her, and she fought the urge to cringe away, wondering if he would spit on her. He was well, figuratively foaming at the mouth, and she wasn't about to confirm it by looking up.

"Your pathetic little attempts at appealing for justice will do you a world of good if you were ever in the presence of even someone amateur as Draco Malfoy! Perhaps you shall be able to appeal that you had no warning at the hands of the most merciful Death Eaters?"

Ok, she was pretty sure he was spitting on her right now.

"Perhaps I might have the pleasure of browsing through your spectacularly inane thoughts of my demise at the next meeting you might have the pleasure of being the entertainment at?"

She looked up startled at this. She had nearly forgotten he was one of _them. _Oh Dear Merlin!

"Aah," he drew the expression out, a smirk back in place, "you had forgotten."

Was he...?

"Calm down Ms. Granger, I have previously mentioned, might I add, several times, that you are the hideous kind of people who wear their hearts on their sleeves. It is only too easy to guess your thoughts."

"Well, Harry and Ron couldn't..." she slapped a hand over her errant mouth, too late, of course.

"Are you comparing me to the likes of a Potter and one of many, many Weasleys? " She wanted to either hit him or herself. "I'm sure," he continued at her, "that I am wounded beyond repair."

Was that a joke? Yes, in Snape-ish, it was.

"Nevertheless, it is pointless to argue otherwise, but you are still allowing your emotions to get in the way. I cannot help you if you so obstinately choose to follow the path of ignorance."

"But ..."

"Ms. Granger, I have had enough of your tendency to expect fair play and nobility from the likes of people. I have had enough of your inability to process a simple bit of information that cannot be found in a book with instructions. I am unwilling to waste yet another afternoon or evening or even a Single Moment of my most precious time attempting to fill a Gryffindor thick skull," as if Gryffindor was a particularly large measure for thickness, "in the futile hope that something might stick."

He waited, as if expecting her to say something. At this point, Hermione was beyond the point of any retorts whatsoever.

"Get out Ms. Granger, I have no use for this kind of know-it-all."

He'd have uses for other kinds would he?

"Professor, I'm sorry."

"I'm sure I am also, for accepting such instructions from our illustrious headmaster."

"Please Sir," she pleaded, "I would like another chance."

"And I would love to have a quiet summer without the irritating creak of your voice."

She felt a wave of anger wash through her. He didn't have to be so high and mighty all the bloody time! Hermione drew in a deep breath and tried again.

"Please Sir."

"So afraid of admitting you are a failure at this?" he continued over her indignant sputter, "Is your need to succeed at everything you attempt so great that you cannot accept defeat in grace?"

She pushed her chin up defiantly and looked straight at him. He would not have the pleasure of seeing her defeated.

He said nothing for the longest time, it seemed, a vaguely disturbing gleam in his eye. She wanted to turn tail and run when he came closer, but she wasn't Gryffindor for nothing.

"Very well," he said in a bored tone, "One more chance, before I get my peace."

"Thank you Sir." She felt uncomfortable with him only a couple of feet away, but didn't make an attempt to move.

He turned abruptly and moved back to his desk. She was left confused and not entirely sure of what had just passed.

"Dismissed." His voice startled her from her thoughts, and she obediently moved to leave.

Hand on the doorknob, Hermione wanted to get the answer to his question from before.

"Sir?" She inquired timidly, "if you could..."

"Spit it out, girl, I haven't all day."

"Err.. that is, the cheering charm Sir, any non-cheerful uses to it?"

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a pointed look, "going to try it on some unsuspecting victim, are you?"

"No! Err... Just curious Sir."

He hummed and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. It was as if he was assessing her worthiness for her answer.

Finally, he spoke. "Suppose you were to be cheerful at a particularly painful event, painful as in mentally," he clarified, "what then?"

She thought over a moment, and then answered, "It would be ghastly! Inappropriate."

He inclined his head, but seemed to have more to say. Hermione wisely shut her mouth and waited.

"If you were to watch your friends be tortured mercilessly, and found yourself cheerfully watching their suffering, matching their screams with laughs, and their tears of anguish with tears of laughter," he seemed to not entirely be there, "if you were to remember it long since their voices had been silenced, your utter lack of sorrow at their helplessness," he paused and she wished he had deemed her unworthy of an answer.

"What then Ms. Granger?" He came back to the here and now, "would you be able to withstand it?"

She bowed her head and swallowed, shaking her head, trying not to flee.

"I think it would drive me mad, Sir."

"Indeed."

This time, she did flee.


	4. Perspective

He was right, of course. She hated that he was, but there was nothing to be done about it. Come to think of it, he was usually correct in his assessments, however cold a manner they were delivered with.

She sighed again and closed her book. For nearly an hour past she had been trying to do anything else but think of what Snape had said.

She shuddered at the thought of the cheering charm. He had explained it with no emotion in his voice but she knew that there was something there from personal experience. He had this faraway look for the length of the explanation, and Snape never looked anything other than bored, snide or smug.

Or Evil.

A small chuckle escaped her at the unbidden image of Snape as the classic Muggle Antagonist, in slick suit and hair, but that died down quickly enough. It was weird on so many levels that she was imagining anything about Snape at all.

Hermione felt very sorry for anyone who had the misfortune of being in the situation he had so calmly described, as if it was an everyday occurrence for anyone to even think that way. She knew he was trying to get a point across, although it didn't mean she wouldn't be horrified by it.

Double edged sword, she understood it perfectly well now, and it was just so fascinating in a morbid way. She realised that Snape was saying that magic is only as dark or light as its use, same as everything else. Take Alfred Nobel for a well known example. Poor fellow.

Muggle history and science was strewn with such examples, not to mention the number of murders with kitchen knives. What irritated her was that she had just been so blind, just like the common folk. The very common folk she was trying so hard not to be.

"A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it," Jean de La Fontaine had said, and it stung her now. Hermione wished that she hadn't fallen to ignorance this way, but it was how it was. She may have the best grades and the most logical mind, but what use is it when she refused to think outside of the box?

A sigh escaped her. He had shot down her entire self-image in the span of an hour. In his sadistic, horrible way, he had taught her to open her eyes.

And it was a little more than a little disturbing, that he had been the one to do it. Not the professors she adored, not the friends and family she loved, and certainly not the Headmaster, but Snape. Snape whom she thought unfair until she had found out about his double role, Snape whom she had thought was the one trying to kill Harry when he was merely saving him, Snape.

Snape, about whom she had so many misconceptions, it made her look like a fool.

Hermione groaned and pushed away from the library table. She needed to clear her head. A walk in the corridors would have to do, since she was forbidden to leave the castle. Madam Pince had long since retired for the evening. She glanced at her watch; a quarter past nine. Dinner was a thing of the past, so the kitchens then.

Leaving a note for Madam Pince atop her work, she left the library, the door shutting with an audible creak behind her. The scones nearby flared to life, and she was a little startled at how spooky this seemed. She was walking alone in a nearly deserted castle. Gulping and steeling herself, she started the trek to the kitchens below, listing potions ingredients to herself.

She was not afraid at all. Or that's what she told herself.

So it was not fear at all when she screeched and jumped a mile high when she heard a soft voice behind her, halfway to the lower levels.

Clutching at her chest and gasping for breath, she braced herself against the wall.

"Night time wanderings, Ms Granger?" A silky voice came from the darkened alcove a little to her left. She was sure he was laughing inside.

"I missed dinner sir, so I thought I'd get something from the kitchens."

"Indeed. I am surprised you know of its existence at all."

"I read it in Hogwarts: A history," she lied smoothly. Well, she thought she had been smooth about it till she heard him snort and enter the light fully. Hermione was half sure the vampire rumours were true. One look at his pale complexion in the torch light, all black robes and demeanour, would have someone crossing themselves.

"Lying, Ms. Granger? I'd never have thought." She could see his smug expression in response to her crumbling one.

"No matter," he continued distractedly, "I will escort you to the kitchens and then to your dormitory. I will however," he sneered at her, "not watch you slobber over your meal, so you will request a platter to be sent up."

She wanted to tell him that she had good table manners, mind you, but he only smirked at her irritated expression. The nerve of him! Ordering her around like that!

He didn't wait to see if she followed, and she briefly considered turning the other way, but her feet followed him on their own accord. Good Lord, she was such a coward. It was summer, she mused, and she was here on "special circumstances" as Dumbledore had put it, so why was she still so scared of experimenting?

Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice, announcing their arrival and warning her to be quick. She nodded dumbly and tickled the pear, stepping through the hole when it swung aside. Elves were milling about and she felt a pang of her former concern, and her "ridiculous" obsession with S.P.E.W.

Granted, the acronym was rather sore, but it was cause that was lost anyway. Not that she'd ever admit it to Harry or Ron. Not on threat of pain, even.

"Dobby?" she called out, and an elf popped in front of her almost immediately.

"Yes, crazy hat mistress?" he squeaked, following which there was a mad dash of all the elves to get as far away as they could. She rolled her eyes but stayed her hand from smacking her forehead. Oh well, she had brought this on herself, so never mind.

"Err, Dobby, I was hoping I could have a platter sent up to my room? I missed dinner," she shrugged.

"Dobby is happy to be helping crazy hat mistress who is friends with Master Harry Potter," he squeaked and clapped his hands. Hermione cringed, but thanked him and left, adding that she didn't want anything too heavy, just something light please.

Snape was leaning against the wall outside, and silently took off in the direction of Gryffindor tower. Her short legs were no match for his incredibly long legs, and she had to jog to keep up. She was out of breath when they arrived.

"I trust you will refrain from any more adventures at night?"

"It wasn't... " she sighed and nodded, knowing there was no arguing with him. He nodded sharply and turned on his heel.

"Professor, wait!"

"Yes, Ms. Granger?" He turned back around and crossed his arms across his chest. She vaguely remembered that muggle psychologists called it a defensive move, but she filed that away for later.

"Thank you, Sir."

"It is not necessary, it is my duty as a teacher to escort errant students back to their dormitories," he paused, "when I can catch... or see... them," he pointedly glared at her, and she flushed at his implication.

"Erm, well, I was thanking you also for the other day, for," she looked at him, "a second chance."

Something flashed across his face, that was too fleeting to register with her, but he gave her a long unreadable look. She tried not to squirm under his gaze.

He nodded once, and turned away, walking quickly out of sight. Hermione was starting to wonder if all her encounters with this man were going to leave her befuddled and thinking in twelve different tangents all at once.

Hermione stepped inside her common room, thinking, yes, it was going to be exactly that way.


	5. Intent

She stood as comfortably as she could, while he paced and occasionally circled. It was discomfiting, but she had more than enough practice to adapt with what little grace she could muster.

Occasionally he would forget she was there. Not that he ever accepted it, of course. She smiled minutely at the thought of him muttering and pacing, oblivious to her shifting from foot to foot.

She was sorely aware that either he trusted her enough to lose himself in thought (which was more of the naïve Gryffindor way of thinking) or that he thought her so small a threat that he needn't bother.

She settled for the latter.

"Crouch Jr. introduced you to the Unforgivables, correct?" His sharp voice brought her out of her thoughts.

She nodded before she said "Yes, Sir."

"And you are aware of each of the three, and what they do?"

"Yes, Sir."

He smirked, "And what is required to cast them?"

She swallowed and remembered what Harry had relayed from Bellatrix Lestrange.

"One has to mean it, or desire, Sir."

He inclined his head, "anything else?"

"I'm not sure Sir, the library has limited information…" she trailed off at the renewed smirk on his face, and coloured.

"How typically Granger," he sneered, "still depending on the Library."

"I can hardly walk up to a teacher and ask them to teach me!" she snapped before she realised whom she was speaking to.

"Five points for your lack of respect," he smirked at her enraged look, "anything you'd like to say?"

"No," she gritted out, "Sir." Bat.

He paused a moment more, and spoke "what else have you learned?"

Ha! She assumed a tone, "that it drains much more than usual from the caster, and there is no known method of blocking them."

"Correct. What do you suspect is the reason for both of those observations?"

She frowned, "well, complicated spells take more energy, and stronger spells as well. I'm not sure why they cannot be blocked, but I'd hazard a guess that the strength of the spell is too much for the shield to bear."

"Ms. Granger, doesn't know something?" He put on a mock expression of surprise for a moment before he turned smug. She wanted to wipe the smugness off of his face.

Muggle style.

And then she realised something. Her anger was more potent when she was in these sessions. It was as if she was allowing him to bring out the worst in her. She calmed her mind, and brought it under control.

Snape, seeming to notice her internal struggle, schooled his face into an expressionless mask. It wouldn't do to push her over the edge; at least not yet.

He could see the determined glint in her eye when she finally brought herself under control. It reminded him of Minerva. He caught a sigh and swallowed it before it left his lips.

"What are the triggers for accidental magic, Ms. Granger?"

She blinked at the sudden change of topic but answered nonetheless "If the wizard is in danger that they are unable to counter, or are too emotionally unstable to control themselves, and by extension, their magic."

"As opposed to intentional wandless magic?"

"Of course. Intentionally it requires a great deal more energy…" she trailed off and pursued that train of thought.

Oh. OH.

"So the Unforgivables are somehow connected to wandless, accidental magic?"

"Indeed. What are the basic properties and laws regarding magic?"

She thought fast, "Power is proportional to intent and emotional stability or the lack thereof," she paused, "power is also not proportional to physical strength."

"Quite. Obvious examples aside."

"And the first intention of magic is to protect and defend."

"If that is assumed correct, then why is Dark Magic possible?"

"Hmm. Like you explained before, everything can be used for good or for bad. No exceptions."

"Even Love?" He spat out the word.

"Even Love," she said determinedly, "considering Love is often a form of self harm."

She didn't meet his eyes then, and her tone of voice was no longer bookish or smug, but just… Sad.

He surreptitiously cast a wordless charm to check her vitals. She was too lost to notice. Not _that_ depressed, thank Merlin. The Weasley boy's antics were well known, as were her affections for the boy. It was not his place to speak of it, although it didn't deter the staff from tittering about.

"Ms. Granger?" he prompted, an edge in his voice.

She startled visibly and looked up at him, colour on her cheeks for having lost herself… yet again. He forced himself to feel no sympathy.

"What makes dark magic possible?" He repeated.

"Power," she deduced correctly, yet ordinarily. A pang of disappointment went through him.

"But," she bit her lip and frowned. A moment later, he could literally hear the gears click into place inside her head; he was not disappointed.

With a glow on her face, she excitedly spoke, "When using the Unforgivables, the victim, armed or otherwise, would experience fear, such as the kind expected on impending harm. At this point, it is possible that an unwilling victim's magic detects and protects, I can only guess, by throwing up a fairly potent shield, judging on average power.

"So the excess power required for overcoming this accidental magic is what drains from the caster. This accounts for the wandless, wordless and accidental magic and the excessive drain. What am I missing?"

To be honest, he was impressed with her reasoning. It was almost accurate. Not that he'd admit it, even under a Cruciatus. He decided to deflect the question.

"According to this explanation, transfiguring animate to inanimate must also drain excessive power."

"Hmm, yes, so what am I missing?"

He let out an exasperated sigh, "Will you expect me to serve the answers to you on a silver platter?"

She bit her lip, suddenly reminded that this was her teacher. "Err," she thought some more, "Intent?"

He shook his head, but glanced about the ceiling for a minute. She followed his gaze, wondering what he was looking for.

A long minute later, he drew his wand and pointed it at a nondescript corner of the window. She strained to see what there was, that was capturing his attention so.

He made a pulling motion and directed his wand to the table in the front, and it was then that she saw the small speck of a spider, struggling against the magic.

She flinched. It was what Moody, nay, Crouch Jr. had done, and she feared he would torture it as well.

"Engorgio," he murmured, and the wee spider was suddenly a good half foot across. She involuntarily stepped back from the (now) vicious looking spider.

Snape noted her behaviour and smirked. He paralysed the spider wordlessly, and raised an eyebrow, daring her to ask the question.

Well, she wasn't Gryffindor for nothing.

"What are we going to do, Sir?" He noted the dread creep into the words, and was sorely tempted to humour it.

"_You_, Ms. Granger, are going to transfigure this into a snuff-box."

He saw the relief flood her expression, and refrained from telling her that that was not all she was going to do; for purely sadistic reasons of course.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, concentrated, and with a flourish of her wand, uttered "Fereverto."

He watched with a dispassionate air as the spider folded in on itself, and formed a rough square, before it melted into a perfectly shaped snuff box. He picked it up and examined the clean artwork, the spider insignia on the lid and the faded gold lining. It was a very good specimen, but her transfiguration prowess was not what interested him.

"What did you feel when you cast the spell?"

"What?" she looked blankly at him, and fought the urge to smack his head with the snuff-box.

"What was the point of this exercise, Ms. Granger?" he spoke in an irritated tone, and she coloured.

"Please do not tell me it was to transfigure the spider to a snuff-box," and from the expression and heightened colour, he understood that yes, that was exactly what she was thinking.

He barely stopped himself from flinging the box away, just to spite her.

"Turn it back," he bit out, and she complied.

"Can you translate the term Fereverto?"

"Roughly, it translates to 'accept' and 'return', or perhaps more like 'accept the return'."

"In essence, you are convincing the target that the shape in your mind is the original, and that is what it must revert to."

"Oh. Wouldn't the intellect of some animals refuse that reasoning?"

"They would, which is why the more intelligent the being is, the heavier the velvet clad iron hand must become."

"Wouldn't that be similar to the Imperius?"

"The key word being 'similar'."

She hummed and glanced at the spider, still petrified, and then at him. He gestured with his hand for her to continue.

She frowned, then concentrated, and made slower wand movements this time. The speed of transfiguration was barely slower, but it was there. Her brow had smoothed and her mouth formed a small O of wonder as she let the magic 'talk' to the spider.

Only this time, she listened.

Hermione couldn't stop the wonder from spreading to her face when she actually felt the weak resistance from the spider. _Fear_, she realised. There being nothing magical about the spider, the effort required was nearly nothing, but she noted the 'nearly' tacked on.

Fear gave way to uncertainty and finally into acquiescence; she felt the minor tug at her magic and her mind, as the request, with an undertone of command, was accepted. The whole process would have taken no more than mere seconds, but it seemed much longer.

She blinked at the snuff-box, which she realised was the same design, but more refined, somehow. She couldn't explain it, but the box was, well, glowing with health, if you could say that of a box.

Hermione looked at her teacher in apparent confusion, and he felt a glimmer of pride. She had realised the change, and she had finally experienced.

"The change is not obvious to anyone who isn't looking for it, Ms. Granger," he intoned, "Did you feel it?"

"Yes," she whispered, "it was… surprising!"

"Indeed."

She was still looking at him with a look of interest; obviously trying to figure something out.

"Spit it out," he snapped at her.

"I'm starting to see why you are a teacher," she said boldly.

"Indeed? I assume you thought teaching robes came for a dime a dozen?" he bit out, not comfortable with the topic.

"No Sir," she spoke calmly, "You Do enjoy teaching, and I feel bad that you cannot indulge in this fashion in class."

"I need neither your opinion nor your pity!"

She shrugged, not bothered in the least by his acidic tone, "It's neither opinion nor pity Sir; merely belated understanding and somehow, an empathetic reaction to knowing you cannot but hide certain things."

He understood perfectly what she was saying, and he hadn't expected it. Therefore, Severus Snape reacted in the only way he reacted to unexpected events.

He snapped and snarked.

"If you are quite done psychoanalysing your poor professor, understand that it has no consequence with me. Your Gryffindor bleeding heart attitude is neither wanted nor welcome."

He continued over her hurt expression, ignoring the pang he felt in his breast, "Your lesson for today is at an end, read more about the Unforgivables from that book," he pointed at the thick tome on the table, and turned his back on her.

"Now get out."

He didn't wait to see if she had done as he had instructed, storming through the side door that led to the ante-room.

He didn't wait to see the confused and hurt look on the young girl's face, before she turned and fled.


	6. Anger

They were back to this.

Hermione standing, waiting, Snape pacing and circling, questioning, relentlessly.

It was not the only thing he was doing. He was baiting her, and she was closer to losing control. The only thing that kept her from snapping so far, was that Snape seemed to rile her till she almost gave in, and then pull back.

It was maddening really.

But she had time in between his often seemingly random frame of questioning, to think of how things had changed.

In these past weeks, she had come to the conclusion that Snape was indeed a very good teacher, but not a kind man at all. She also realised that Snape was not nasty only for the sake of cover, no.

Snape was nasty, period.

It wasn't something she had ever intended to admit to the boys, but they were right. He was downright cruel if he was provoked, but Snape was usually in a bad mood.

And Hermione was beginning to understand why.

At first she thought it was just her imagination, but lately her temper had been on the verge of a losing battle with control. When it only seemed to get worse, she realised that no, it was not normal, and the only things that were different was her missed summer at the Bahamas, and the Dark Arts sessions.

She honestly didn't want to spend time in the Bahamas.

Which left the lessons. It was after a bunch of research (how surprising!) that she understood that touching magic such as the Unforgivables, be it in theory or practice, caused people to change. Some were angered by it, some were depressed by it (not a good idea) and still others, were seduced by it.

It had taken a lot of guessing to figure out whether Snape was affected in the first or the third way. She shuddered at the thought of _anyone_ being seduced by Dark Magic, even the Dark Lord. It made them inimitably cold, and cruel, according to her.

Sometimes Snape scared her.

He often spoke of Dark Magic in such a way as to send a horrifyingly pleasant tingle down her spine, and at those times, she scared herself.

She hazarded a closest guess that Snape was angered by it. Even if he spoke reverently of certain concepts and spells, he never gave the air that he truly enjoyed some of the curses being cast for an ulterior motive.

Hermione doubted that being a follower of the Dark Lord meant high tea and scones and inexhaustible lemon drops. She didn't show that she worried about what consequences Snape faced, in unwillingly having to torture muggles or muggle-borns for that matter.

She was, therefore, angry and snappish.

Concentrating on the pacing man before her, she ventured a small cough, in case he forgot she was there. Again.

Apparently, he hadn't.

He glared at her but made no remark, and she was suddenly guilty of having interrupted his train of thought. A moment later, he spoke.

"For now, let us concentrate on the Unforgivables," he said, "it is best we start with something you already know."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What is the purpose of particular wand movements, if they have no consequence in most of the spells we have spoken of?"

"Why do you think it is?"

Aargh! Couldn't the man answer one straight question? "I'm not sure Sir, but perhaps efficiency?"

"Efficiency of what measure?"

"Err... Power?"

"In part. You recall the change in your transfigured spider?" he pointed at the box, still sitting on the table.

"Channelling power increases quality of the outcome?"

"Indeed. Have you read the book?"

"I have," she paused, "so even the Unforgivables have wand movements? I thought it was more like aim and fire?"

"All spells have wand movements, Ms. Granger," he drawled, "or has your reasoning failed you entirely?"

"No Sir," she bit out, "it was not mentioned in the book."

"Indeed," he smirked and leaned in conspiratorially, causing her to instinctively lean in as well.

"Some things," he continued, "cannot be found in a book."

That was it.

"I know!" she exploded, "you don't exactly have to keep reminding me that I am a bookworm and a know it all!" she continued over his warning growl, "I have had it with you! I am here as your student, but also on order business, therefore, closer to an apprentice or colleague! If you can't be trusted to be civil, then..."

She froze, he smirked triumphantly as he drew out a memory of their first session, she coloured.

He pulled out of her head, none too gently, and snarled at her crestfallen expression.

"Perhaps you might want to share that tidbit of information with one of the Dark Lord's lackeys? Years of undercover work destroyed and The Order's spy revealed in one moment of your weakness?" His voice had gone so quiet, it instilled fear in her.

"Your mind is now as full of information that is crucial to this war, as is Potter's. I will not have you be my harbinger of death, because you were too busy preaching of social etiquette. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione nodded dumbly, feeling ashamed of her outburst. Of course he was right. He was looming over her and she couldn't stop the tears this time.

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

"So am I, Ms. Granger, so am I. Get out. I will speak with Dumbledore," he moved away, and she was snapped back into attention.

"I have no use for someone who cannot shed their juvenile tendencies, completely unconcerned about consequences, as you are. Your self control is pathetic," he sneered at her crying face, "and so is your need to prove yourself."

She stood frozen. He was kicking her out? She had screwed up her second chance?

"Get OUT!" He snarled, and she ran.

She didn't see him wince at her loud footsteps. She didn't see him rub a tired hand over his face.

"What am I going to tell Albus now?" he whispered to himself, and headed towards the ante-room. The headmaster was going to have a fit.


	7. Regression

"This is not a happy turn of events, Severus."

"Indeed? I thought getting Gryffindors out of my dungeons crying was."

"Severus! You know what consequences this will have!"

"I told you before, Albus, children are not suited to this. Have you no regret in corrupting yet another Student's innocence?"

The headmaster said nothing, but his disapproval of fore melted into guilt and regret. "A point for Snape," Severus thought nastily.

Albus sighed, and looked every one of his hundred and fifty years.

"Will you never forgive me for that Severus?"

"You owe nothing to me," Snape turned to look out of the window; the sun was setting behind the forest, a magnificent scene.

"That does not answer my question."

"Do not seek answers for questions I cannot answer myself."

The headmaster winced as if slapped, and Severus paid no heed to the man behind him.

"I cannot teach her, Albus. I have followed your orders and treated with as much kindness as is within me, which is," he paused, "not enough for her."

"She is young, she will learn."

"She is a child!" Snape spun on his heel to face the headmaster, who was watching him carefully.

"It is not our place to taint her this way!" he continued, pacing in front of the window, "have you not noticed? Have you not _seen_?"

"What, precisely, Severus?"

"Do not play fool with me Albus. You have seen how she is restless, and quick to anger and..." he stopped as if the wind was taken from his lungs.

"Severus?" the headmaster prompted gently.

"She has begun to form an attachment to me, in a way," he spoke quietly, and turned back to the window.

"She looks up to you Severus, and is trying to understand you."

Snape snorted inelegantly, and spoke to the window, "it is not as simple as knitting misshapen hats, Albus. You are aware of how such a thing could pursue."

"I am indeed. She has her heart set on not disappointing you."

"And where does that leave her?" he snarled, "in a tangle of the web I have been trying to escape for so long, I have nearly forgotten hope? Would you have that on my soul as well?"

"Severus," the headmaster rose to approach him.

"No," Snape sighed, "it is not right Albus. Such a mind must not be corrupted by the seduction of magic of the worst kind."

"You think it not in her grasp?"

He snorted, "I think it unfair. Nothing is beyond the girl's grasp."

"Indeed," the headmaster said gravely, "but we are at war, Severus."

Snape swallowed and nodded. He decided to change the subject.

"How are Potter and Weasley faring?"

"I have not completed the memory sessions with Harry as yet, but Minerva tells me Ronald is quite adept at chess. She has taught him the more complicated ways of winning the game."

"Against what methods of his?"

"He has never had formal ideas of Chess, Severus. It was his natural talent."

"Quite. I wouldn't expect Weasley to find knowledge in a book."

"Indeed," the headmaster chuckled, "he seems to have taken a flame for the Sicilian Dragon."

"Hmm , let me see," Snape scratched his chin, "brutal, aggressive. Why does that not surprise me? You have a flame for the Nunn-Nataf."

"Sacrificial, Severus?" the headmaster seemed surprised. Snape waved his hand, "I have taken to note. I only imagine what horrors are yet to befall me for having to work with a Weasley at my side."

"It won't be all that bad, Severus," the headmaster smiled and Snape grumbled something suspiciously like "meddlesome."

"You forget, you are yet to be known to the boy as a colleague. He will not be happy to note he has to play you to garner a place among us."

"Minerva is a brilliant strategist," Snape said hotly, "I am not the only one."

"Indeed, I know that to be true. But You, are the one with... how do the muggles put it? Ah yes, Poker Face."

"Hardly," Snape muttered, but didn't speak further. It was true; Severus had many ways to misdirect a player. Minerva was a very straightforward one. He didn't hesitate to use underhanded moves. It was war, after all. He was quite sure the youngest Weasley boy would take to his techniques like a merman to water.

He was still basking on the fact that he would soon be able to test exactly how many shades of red the boy could turn, when Albus interrupted his pleasant mental vacation.

"About Ms. Granger, Severus?"

"What about her? You have made it clear that you are unwilling to spare the chit of a girl from my merciless self, it leaves me little choice."

"Severus, I am not doing this to force your hand, but it was you who suggested the idea."

"I did not suggest we use children to fight an adults' war!"

"I know, Severus, but there is little choice we have, and you are aware of it."

"We could take the risk."

"We could, but what's risk without return, Severus? Would you risk this war because it seems unfair to use children? Voldemort is using children."

"Voldemort is a vicious madman, can you say the same?"

The headmaster's eyes hardened, and Snape knew he had spoken out of line. He ran a hand through his already agitated hair.

"Fine, Albus. I shall give the girl one last chance. But no more." He turned to the headmaster with a feral gleam in his eye.

"If you force me beyond that, I will be forced to use more aggressive techniques of teaching." He turned smug at the slightly nervous look on the headmaster's face.

"I will not be toyed with, Albus. This is not teaching a child how to levitate things, and if she cannot grasp the significance of her role, and _grow up_," he sneered, "then she deserves no mercy or _civility_, as she so aptly puts it."

He nodded at the headmaster and swept out of the chamber. If Albus wanted to play, he would show that two could play this game as well.

"What of the girl?" a small part of him protested, "would you treat her as the mere means to an end? Would you justify that? Have you no recollection of how that is?"

Snape silenced that part of his brain, and strode purposefully to the dungeons. Dinner was long past, and he was starving. Perhaps he'd have an elf bring him some in his rooms.

He briefly wondered if they had shepherd's pie.


	8. Learning to Dance

Duck, hop left, swirl and step back.

Step right and stay away from the wall. Turn ninety and fall back.

Crouch and never fall down.

She felt like her thighs were on fire. Her feet were protesting and her back threatened to give way.

She also felt triumphant.

Hermione had gotten better at this. She realised that the faster Snape fired, the better she was learning. The number of bruises and scratches she had earned were lesser than the first few days of this.

Summer was nearly at an end, and she was fitter, more tanned and her reflexes had never been better.

In between the theory and spell casting, Snape had filled every single day with physical activities. She was sure this was much worse than any Boot Camp in Britain, but she was too determined not to give him any opportunity to throw her out.

Or criticize her, for that matter.

Her school work had been finished in the first week of Summer. She had long since pushed school to the side.

She simply did not have the time.

Snape was a taskmaster. But she also saw the other side of him, which left her breathless and awed. She wondered what had happened between him and the Headmaster that she had landed at his doorstep yet again, claiming thanks for yet another chance.

There had been no looking back since.

Snape trained her every day, oversaw her physical exercises, and relentlessly questioned her on material he had loaned her from his personal library.

He had also promised to show her just how creative he could be with spells, if she ever so much as scratched the covers of his books. She believed him, fervently, and guarded the books with her life. Of course the task would become more demanding when school got back in session in less than a month.

Hermione wondered where the time had flown, and her mind supplied "in learning to survive a war."

Snape had called a halt to allow her to rest, and had started questioning her instead.

"What does the concrescere sanguis do?"

"Congeal the blood of the target."

"Where is the most effective spot to cast?"

"The heart sir, particularly the aorta."

"Why?"

"It congeals the artery, causing the blood to pool in the heart and causing it to..." she trailed off.

"Explode," he finished for her, firmly. She nodded and flexed her feet.

"I wonder Sir," she ventured, before he started another question, "if we could reverse our positions during this form of exercise." He raised an eyebrow and she stammered.

"I just thought I'd learn some way of getting lesser hits."

He didn't speak, and she knew this meant he was considering it. She also wanted the chance to pelt him with the tiny rubber pellets he shot out of his wand. She briefly wondered if he saw muggle movies. He seemed to be training her like one.

"If any information about this reaches one soul beyond this room," he said silkily, fingering his wand lovingly, "you know what will follow."

She gulped and nodded. She had no intension of telling anyone else; particularly not the boys.

He sneered and shed his outer robes. As usual, he had a white shirt and black trousers underneath, and she saw he was lean and well... bony.

He cracked his neck, and gestured that she prepare. She projected the need for a muggle paintball gun, and the room of requirement gave her a somewhat outdated rifle. Snape gave her a wary look, and Hermione grinned. He wasn't the only one who got creative with spells. She had used this to train for his sessions.

"Infinitus Spui," she tapped the rifle, pointing it away from their bodies, "Galbanen."

The rifle started firing off small resin pellets in rapid succession. Snape watched her as she frowned and concentrated on tuning the rifle's firing speed.

"Minuo" she murmured to the rifle, a few times, till she matched his speed of firing, and then looked up "I haven't been able to make it fire at random intervals, Professor," she nodded and gestured at the rifle.

"For now," he conceded, internally feeling pride. She gave him a small smile and nodded.

"Ready when you are," she hefted the rifle, still pointing away from their bodies.

Snape nodded and smirked. She tapped the gun to make it lighter, and directed it at him.

"As long as you please, Ms. Granger," he had drawled and dodged the pellets.

Effortlessly.

She knew he was graceful by his usual demeanour, but this was nothing like she had imagined.

He stepped, swirled and jumped, almost as if it were a dance. Hermione oddly wanted to follow his moves.

Even without his billowing robes, he was grace incarnate. Time and again, he looked at her and smirked, obviously at her codfish look.

He made her look like a Troll attempting to do the ballet. If Hermione thought fourth year was bad enough, she was now sure that she was never, ever going to tell another soul about this. It was obviously against her own reputation to tell anyone that Professor Snape bested her in grace.

Ten minutes or so later, Snape showed no signs of faltering, and Hermione could feel the strain on her shoulders. She tapped the rifle and murmured "finite incantatem."

She found the rifle oddly interesting while Snape donned his robes and walked toward her. Her ears coloured and the toes of his boots came into focus.

She waited for the inevitable snark.

It didn't come. Hermione cautiously looked up and found him watching her with an expression of mild amusement.

He raised an eyebrow as if to ask "satisfied?"

She flushed and ventured to say precisely nothing.

A minute during which she desperately wished the Room of Requirement to grant her need to not be embarrassed, Hermione considered how amusing it must be for Snape to see her clunk about during their sessions.

"You hold yourself too stiffly," he said quietly, and her eyes flew to connect with his. He held no amusement, nor mockery. She frowned at his statement.

In answer, he looked at her shoulders and asked, "May I?"

At her dumb nod, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and turned her around. Hermione tried to ignore what this caused her. His other hand came to rest on her other shoulder. Hermione tried not to let the shiver be too noticeable. If he noticed it, he didn't acknowledge it.

His thumb came to rest at the base of her neck. Hermione closed her eyes and let her head drop minutely. Snape poked and prodded at her shoulders and neck. She stifled a sigh of pleasure, at this impromptu neck rub.

He spoke in low tones behind her, and Hermione flushed at what his voice was doing to her knees.

"Your shoulders are too tense; I believe you worry at the fact of getting hit more than avoiding." He continued, "Fear and worry often make your reflexes worse," there was no admonishment in his voice, and Hermione wanted to see his face.

"Stop worrying about what will happen and concentrate on dealing with what is thrown at you." Hermione couldn't help it, she tilted her neck slightly so her cheek came in contact with the backs of his fingers.

Faster than she could comprehend, Snape had removed his hands from her shoulders and retreated to the fireplace that had appeared. "Practice," he threw over his shoulder and disappeared in a rush of green flames.

Hermione wondered why she didn't feel as repulsed to his touch as she should have.

"Ha Ha, very funny," she muttered at large, ignoring the shower stall that had appeared and heading for the exit.


	9. Thought and Action

"What in blazes was I thinking?" Snape snarled at himself.

"Obviously nothing," cheeked the mirror. At Snape's growl, the mirror wisely shut it.

He wiped his face and flung the towel at the mirror that muttered, "Well I never!" before he stalked out of the bath.

He should have not touched her. The girl was obviously lonely, and he was the only company she had, not counting portraits. She was spending copious amounts of time with a man, and it was natural for teenage hormones to go awry.

But that didn't explain why he didn't berate or humiliate her.

"Because that is too cruel, even for me," he sighed and sat down in front of the fire. Training had gone on longer than he expected, and it was nearly time for dinner. Snape wondered if she would brave dinner in the Hall or take it in her rooms.

He didn't know which of those options made him feel better.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Hermione paced in front of the common room fire, burning low and making the room rather warm.

"Obviously I wasn't," she imitated Snape as best as she could. It was just, well, she couldn't explain it, but she just did what she did!

"I touched Professor Snape," she thought, "at least his fingers, when he was giving me a neck rub."

On how many levels did that sound wrong? Too many.

"He's my professor," she argued with herself in her head.

"Great, now I am arguing with myself," she muttered and rolled her eyes, "as if my temper wasn't enough."

Snape, for once, was being friendly to her, and she had to go and ruin it all by doing something as stupid as that.

She sighed and sat in an armchair. Glancing at her watch, she figured there was enough time to read before dinner, so she picked up one of the books at random and flicked to where the bookmark was.

Snape didn't know whether to be angry or relieved when she didn't show for Dinner. Since she was the only student in the castle, Dumbledore had "requested" that she be allowed to dine with them at the single table that graced the Hall.

Usually staff would be away for the summer, except for Minerva, Albus and himself, with the occasional Order member joining them. He ate his dinner in relative silence, and got up to leave before pudding.

"Severus," Minerva tugged his arm to return to his seat.

"What is it?" he bit out, snatching his arm from her grasp.

"Why, I wonder what you have a bee in your bonnet about," she frowned at his unusual rudeness.

He sighed and spoke quietly, "it's nothing, Minerva, Just a headache. A walk through the corridors should do me good."

"Are you quite alright?" Albus spoke from his place at the head.

"Fine, Headmaster, now, please excuse me," he got up and stalked out of the hall.

He didn't notice the shrewd looks exchanged by the headmaster and his deputy.

"Kindly let me through," he asked the portrait with as much grace as he could muster, which at this point, was barely above snapping.

"Why?" the Fat Lady said belligerently.

"A student resides here, I intend to make sure she is alright," he paused, "headmaster's orders," he lied smoothly.

"Oh," the portrait looked at him suspiciously, and he raised his eyebrow, as if daring her to counter him.

Finally, the portrait swung aside with much consternation, and snapped close barely missing his toes once he was through. He cursed under his breath and moved into the common room.

Of course as a professor and head of house, he had access to all the common rooms, although he never ventured deeper unless absolutely necessary. He was contemplating on how he could ascertain the girl's well being without waking her, when he noticed a pair of feet sticking out from an armchair facing the fire.

He walked around to berate her for not attending dinner (which he knew wasn't a rule in general, never mind what in nine hells he was doing here) but stopped short when he saw she was fast asleep.

Hugging his book to her chest, no less.

He wanted to shake her awake and berate her (now) for both manhandling his book and missing dinner (which still wasn't a rule) but he just couldn't get himself to do it.

"Now, what have we here, stalking a student now Snape?" he thought to himself.

He sighed. He was concerned about her. There, he admitted it, even if it was only in his head, which was where the thought originated anyway.

He couldn't take her up the girls' dormitory of course, and he didn't want to wake her up. He stood a minute watching the barely alive fire flicker and throw oblong shadows across her face. Her impossible hair was all over the place , and glinted gold in the firelight.

He knew he shouldn't be here. He knew he shouldn't have touched her today. But here he was, and she had shivered under his touch.

"She's a child!" he remembered his own words, and it would not do to be caught staring at a student, and a Gryffindor no less. While she was sleeping.

"Isn't the first time you've gawked over a Gryffindor girl," a small part of his brain commented, and he snarled mentally.

He came here to check on the girl, and she was obviously fine. She hadn't come to dinner because she had fallen asleep reading, tired as she would have been after this afternoon. He wondered why he was cheered that this was the reason she had missed dinner.

Well, if Ms. Granger wanted to sleep in the chair and get a crick in her neck, then that was fine by him.

He looked heavenward, as if the answers would come in the form of a lightning bolt for his troubles, but nothing happened. As if.

He plonked a cushion at the end of the long couch, and carefully levitated the sleeping form onto it. He tried to pull the book out of her hand (for the sake of preservation, of course) and froze when she mumbled something at the loss of the book.

A moment later, she fell quiet and he considered leaving. On another thought, he shrugged off his outer robe, and covered her. England weather was not predictable, and summer rains were looming.

Hermione snuggled into the robe and drew it tightly over herself.

Snape forced himself to think nothing, and placed the book in her book-bag before he quietly exited the Gryffindor tower.

He would get no sleep tonight. Perhaps Poppy's stores were low?

His questions were answered for him in the form of a sharp stabbing pain in his left arm. He looked heavenward, in hope of a lightning bolt.

Of course it wouldn't come.

He broke into a run. He didn't want to be late, and become the Dark Lord's plaything this night. He had been in a right foul mood since Lucius' fabulous outcome for the Ministry Raid.

Briefly he considered leaving a note for Granger, but he ignored it, and cast off a patronus to Albus. He would have to deal with the girl later on.


	10. Reason

"Mmm, warm and cozy," and then, "hmm, this isn't my bed."

Hermione cracked open one eyelid, with great effort, and waited for the fuzziness to recede.

"Common room?" she groaned, "again," and she shut the open eye.

Something lingered, a scent of musk and spice and a lot of things nice; warm and woolly and wonderful.

Woolly? Hmm.

She stretched and hummed, a small smile on her face, and her stomach chose that moment to remind her of its forgotten existence.

She's missed dinner? Oh, she had!

And then she remembered that she had fallen asleep reading, although she was pretty sure she had been sitting in the armchair.

The house elves had never been kind enough to…

It was a wool robe.

And it didn't belong to her.

And it was too large to be McGonagall's; not to mention McGonagall would have marched her off to bed had she seen her sleeping here.

Which means…

Hermione's languor faded into nothingness. Snape!

He had come here when she was asleep? And draped his outer robe over her sleeping form?

She didn't know whether to be horrified that she had been seen by him, or be thankful that he had not let her sleep in the chair.

She certainly hoped that he used magic to put her on the couch.

Hermione coloured at the thought of Snape carrying her like some swooning Victorian maiden to lay her down. She assured herself that it was mortification that caused her face to resemble a tomato.

The book!

Oh dear Merlin, she couldn't find it around! Had he confiscated the book because she had fallen asleep with it? She shot out of the couch and glanced at the side tables. It wasn't there.

Panic rising, she rummaged through her book bag, and relaxed when she found it there. For one moment, she had been sure he'd never let her touch his books again.

"Tempus," she muttered, and a bright green mist formed an analog clock, showing ten to eight. If she hurried, she could catch some breakfast before her morning session with Snape.

At the thought of him, the events of yesterday (evening and night) refused to let her be. He had shown such concern and kindness, Hermione didn't know what to make of it.

Snape wasn't the kind of teacher to go tucking students in, or giving them neck rubs. The latter made her blush (in mortification, of course) at the memory of his fingers and voice…

"STOP IT!" she nearly shrieked into the empty common room, and shushed herself.

"He's your teacher, he's your teacher, he's the greasy git, he's the bat, and he's not Ron…" she relayed in thought, anything to get him out of her head. What had come over her to behave like the teenage brat that he hated with a passion?

Loneliness, she reasoned, caused such… unexpected reactions.

Companionship, and a near colleague status.

A mutual position, in this war.

War.

The thought sobered Hermione, as she quickly showered and dressed for breakfast.

This is war, she thought, and he's trying to be friendly because he knows how it is. Snape understood her unique status with respect to this war. It would not do for her to read too much into his concern.

Cold and distant, though he was, Hermione couldn't escape the fact that he had protected them time and again. She felt foolish for having risked her neck, and Harry's and Ron's because of some half baked theories.

But she had never trusted him like she did now; with her life.

Hermione paused in the hallway, before resuming her brisk trot. She had placed his robe, folded neatly, in her bag, intending to give it to him later.

She trusted him.

It was a revelation, and suddenly, all the risks he was taking made sense because of one reason.

He trusted her too.

That shook her, as the magnitude of their roles crashed down on her with sudden clarity. Her step faltered as she approached the Great Hall. Would he be there? Would he misunderstand her actions and dismiss her? Had she ruined it, yet again?

Mentally berating her stupidity, she pushed open the doors, and was met with hearty greetings from Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. A small part of her brain was sad that Snape wasn't there, but she brushed it off, and smiled in return.

Once seated, polite inquiries of her health led to subtle questions about how she was faring and how her "extra studies and project" was going. All this, Hermione answered in as vague a manner as she could, and could feel the measuring gaze of the Headmaster on her.

He was twinkling, but there was a heavier meaning, she was sure. Had Snape reported her behaviour? She decided, no, it would have meant explaining what he was doing in the first place. She raised her barriers and left them there, subtly weaving mundane memories onto the forefront, just like Snape had taught her.

He had also taught her that trusting the headmaster was usually something to be taken with a pinch of salt. Behind the grandfatherly, twinkling personality, lay a cunning kingmaker and strategist.

She believed it now.

Snape had taken to teaching her in a manner that was trying, tiring and tyrannical sometimes, but it was, she realised, the best way to impose the severity of her current situation. She was in the midst of a war.

Hermione suddenly felt like losing her toast. All this while she had worked simply because she wanted to prove that she could handle almost anything Snape threw at her. She had been nothing more than a stubborn Gryffindor.

He was trying to teach her that unlike these sessions that they had, out there, there were no second chances. If she were to fight, there would be no rubber pellets, but real life threatening curses thrown at her.

A second's hesitation meant she could die. A second's weakness on her part meant he could die.

He was trusting her with his life, his role as a spy, and this whole damned war.

She must have paled, because Professor McGonagall peered at her seriously and asked her if she was fine.

Hermione muttered something about leaving an important book outside, and rushed from the hall. It was a lame excuse, they all knew, but they didn't stop her.

Tears of anger at her nonchalant behaviour, her complete lack of understanding and maturity with respect to Snape, stained her cheeks as she ran in no particular direction.

How could Dumbledore do this? She wanted to scream; how could he involve her without telling her what was going on?

She felt sorry for Snape. He had to deal with her and the headmaster and his role and a dozen other things, and the worst worry she had so far was keeping Harry in one piece, because of the idiotic risks they took.

Come to think of it, they had been downright stupid. Hermione thought of how much Snape had to suffer between Umbridge and themselves.

Unwittingly, she found herself in the room of requirement, which had turned into a glade.

Here, Hermione sat and cried.

She cried for herself, and for Snape and how they both were never going to be the same by the time this war had ended.

If they were alive when the war ended.


	11. Answers

That is where Snape found her, close to dinner time.

He had returned to the castle a few hours before, spent time with Poppy, who sniffled over fixing his torn skin.

The Dark Lord had learned of his new teaching position, before Snape had a chance to tell him. Of course the Dark Lord wasn't pleased.

He'd left Bella in charge of teaching the teacher a lesson. Bella, of course, was very creative.

Especially with cutting and slicing hexes.

But it was his good fortune that the Dark Lord was pleased with his appointment; it saved him from total disrepair.

Snape stood, leaning against a tree, watching the girl. Occasionally she heaved a breath and her shoulders shook. He knew she sensed his presence, but left it at that.

He was not sure what had caused her to be so distressed, but she would speak when she was able. He was a patient man.

He had his orders, as the new Defence teacher. He had dutifully writhed in pain, gasped for breath and begged for mercy, kissed the hem with his bloody lips and bowed sycophantically at his "Lord's" feet, and waited till he had been alone to activate the emergency portkey to the infirmary.

Poppy had efficiently fixed him, and refrained from mothering him. It would take a few days for the deeper scars to heal, if at all. Then she had warned him to leave off the heroics and flooed to wherever she was spending the summer.

He sighed and waited.

Eventually, she turned her head slightly and spoke, "Why?"

He knew what she was asking, but he wasn't ready to answer just yet.

"Because you failed to turn up at our session, and you missed lunch," he lied, and she snorted, turning back to stare at the small pool at the centre of the glade.

"I've been fed too many lies and half truths," she said so quietly, he nearly missed it.

His chest constricted at the utter resignation that coloured her words. It wasn't right for such emotion to be part of a child's life. She would not remain a child much longer.

Not unlike his own past.

To give her ample time to refuse his gesture, he walked slowly, crunching grass and leaves underfoot, to stand beside her. She said nothing, neither did she recoil or move, so he assumed it was alright.

They stayed that way, each lost in their own thoughts, for longer than they cared to account for. The silence was interrupted by a tiny chime that would have gone unnoticed were it not for the absolute peace of the glade.

Snape lifted a pocket-watch (a gift from Poppy, years ago), flicked it open, and tapped the face. He glanced down to see her looking at him with curiosity.

His face gave nothing away, but he felt the heaviness at seeing her pale face, tear stained and nearly hopeless. It was not right.

"May I?" she nodded at the watch, and he silently took it off the chain to hand it to her.

"It's time for dinner," he said, needing to speak.

She was already examining the face. It was not unlike the Weasleys' clock, he knew. But this one was tuned to him. It would inform Poppy were something to happen. Snape had been touched by the gesture.

Now, it pointed to "Late for Dinner."

She chuckled and handed it back to him. A brief moment, their fingers touched, and he was amazed by the tingle he felt. It was also not right, he reminded himself.

"You should be at dinner, Ms. Granger," he intoned.

"I'm not particularly hungry, Sir," she replied, "You should be too."

"I find our predicament to be the same," he looked out at the pool. He was tired, and his legs were protesting. Torture did take its toll on one's body, he thought dryly.

A moment later, he felt something soft touch the back of his hand, and a quiet "thank you" fell from her lips.

His robe. He remembered now.

He nodded, took it from her and against his better judgement, draped it across her shoulders. She looked confused for a moment, but then she gratefully drew it closer. Her jeans and jumper were not suited to the cool glade.

"Would you like to join me, Sir?"

"I was under the impression that I already had," he drawled, making her smile a little. It relieved him somewhat.

She tilted her head, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Muttering about presumptuous Gryffindors (which made her smile widen) he sat down next to her, careful to leave a respectable distance. It would not do to have the headmaster die of an apoplexy to see his Golden Gryffindor socialising with the Greasy Git.

Apparently, she had no such worry.

Hermione scooted closer, and he felt nervous. It was not everyday that young children willingly accepted his company. He was not used to being friendly, except with the staff, and even that on rare occasion.

"May I?" she asked again, and he was hard pressed not to get up and run as fast as he could when she boldly draped the wool coat over both of them.

"It wouldn't do for either of us to freeze," she spoke, but he noticed the colour on her cheeks. He smirked internally to realise she was as nervous as he.

"Indeed," he murmured, and accepted the peace offering. It seems she had done much growing up in the past few weeks, and he was not blind to it.

The Room of Requirement locked itself up, allowing no passage inside. It was not clear whose requirement it was.

A long stretch of shared silence, that neither occupant was compelled to fill, surrounded them, save for the occasional whisper of leaves, or rippling of the water.

It was when he felt the weight of her head on his shoulder that Snape brought himself out of his thoughts. Hermione had fallen asleep.

Against all his inner turmoil, Snape decided that she deserved to be treated better than a floating object.

He knelt, carefully holding her head, and swept her up from the ground, almost as easily as he would lift a book. Much to his shock, her arms came up to surround his neck, her head resting on his chest, as if it belonged there.

Sighing at the gullibility of impressionable teenagers, he stepped through the fireplace, landing gracefully in the Gryffindor common room.

_Déjà vu_, he thought to himself, as he left her asleep, hugging his robe close.


	12. Cover Stories

"Term begins in three days, and as you know, the feast is in two nights," she nodded and smiled. He supposed she would be pleased to see those two troublemakers.

"You have decided on your N.E.W.T subjects, I presume?" Again a nod.

"Very well," he drawled, "Deliver the list by tonight, and I am quite certain you are anxious to make your purchases."

"Yes Sir, I received the list from Professor McGonagall," she confirmed.

"Your school supplies will be purchased by either me or Professor McGonagall; was there anything else that you required from Diagon alley?"

She bit her lip and thought a while, "may I take time to think over it? I could drop off the supplies list along with my N.E.W.T list."

"That will be acceptable," he said, "try not to have anything...embarrassing on the supplies list," he smirked at her, and she flushed. As if!

She knew he wasn't being cruel. It was more a joke, if you really looked. Hermione had gotten quite adept at picking out his moods. Yes, spending nearly every day of the summer with someone will do that to you.

"Sir?" she ventured and he looked up from the parchment he was studying.

"We will continue our sessions after term begins, won't we?"

"Indeed. There is much too much left to be covered, although," he ran a finger along his bottom lip, "it might be a crunch; what, with reduced sessions, and regular coursework."

"Of course," he continued, "I expect that you train physically, as often as possible."

Her face fell, and he snapped, "You don't expect to stop training your reflexes and physique simply because of term, do you?"

She shook her head and answered, "I was wondering if you won't be there to supervise."

He raised an eyebrow, "so you wish me present?" Snape kept the surprise from his voice.

"Well, I haven't been able to charm the rifle to shoot at random intervals, I suppose that is quite difficult," she paused, "and it is still better to have human interaction for this sort of thing. But I guess you will be rather busy, as well."

"Indeed," he drawled and then added, "I will try to fit some time in for those as well." It wasn't supposed to make her smile, to spend more time with him, should it?

Why not? They had developed some odd sort of camaraderie, in the past weeks. He watched her go back to reading the book on Familial curses, and thought back.

After than evening in the glade, she had shown more patience and understanding during their lessons. The enthusiasm was no longer merely academic, it was more of responsibility. It was as if that night, she went to sleep a changed person. They had not discussed any of those events, and she was strangely not her usual know-it-all self.

Hermione Granger had grown up.

He couldn't stop the little thrill of pride that blossomed in his chest; she was his protégé, and he couldn't have picked better. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone. He suspected Albus and Minerva had already guessed. Hermione had graduated from model schoolgirl to model student.

Yes, there was a difference.

A vast difference.

He had seen her take longer than before to learn, but when she did, it was with more emphasis on application, variation and creativity. She had even braved casting the Unforgivables. Albus and he had warded a secluded spot in the Forbidden Forest.

That spot, technically didn't exist. It would not register on the ministry maps, it would not register on muggle maps. It was a world out of this world.

Once the wards were active (tuned to Snape, Granger, Albus, Minerva, Poppy and Hagrid), you disappeared from the face of the earth. It was old magic, not just a little devious, but powerful. He doubted even the Dark Lord was capable of it.

In that spot, he had ordered her to cast curse after curse, one worse than another, and observe the effects, document the changes and report to him. He had even ventured to teach her how to manipulate basic wandwork, to alter the intended effects.

If the nature of the work wasn't so questionable, he would have found more joy in her successes. With each touch of such cursed magic, the mind was affected, and he found she had admirable control. It would have to be her loyalty to Potter and Weasley, that made her so determined not to succumb to the lure.

He had often come to the brink himself. It would have to be worse for her.

So he did what he could to ease it along. His words were not vitriolic, could he manage it, and he even allowed her to ask innumerable questions, attempting to answer those he could, and gently rebuffing those he wouldn't.

Yes, they had become two companions, in the twilight of this war, and there was little more he could do than give and accept support.

He envied her youth, but was disturbed by how familiar this seemed. She had barely been older than he had been since his first foray into this line of work. On the other hand, she had Potter and Weasley to keep her content and happy.

Although he suspected Weasley was a touchy subject for her.

"You will meet with me and Professor McGonagall in the headmaster's office after dinner tonight," he said without expression.

At her questioning look, he supplied, "for a good cover story."

She nodded and waited for him to continue, finger patiently positioned on the page in front of her.

"Also, Madam Pomfrey has requested that you see her tomorrow after breakfast, for a full work-up."

"But why?"

"Because she has to ensure that there is no residual effects from the 'strenuous sessions' we have been having; her words, not mine."

"I see, alright, if it will please her."

"It would not be wise to disobey her orders, I have come to learn."

She grinned, and he raised a corner of his lips in an almost smile. They stared at each other for a while, and she finally spoke.

"I will miss the regular sessions, professor."

He didn't know what to say to that, never mind that he shared the sentiment. Working with her was something of an enjoyable experience, when the mood struck.

He inclined his head and said nothing. She went back to her reading.

"Oh, and bring what books you have borrowed, to me before tomorrow night."

"Are you going to take them back?" she seemed worried, and he mentally chuckled.

"No, Ms. Granger," he gave an amused smirk, "I will merely charm them to reveal their true contents when you present a password; along that line, do think of a term you are not likely to use often. Something relatively short," he warned.

She seemed relieved that she wouldn't lose the opportunity to study them. "Yes, Sir," she said quietly.

"Would you teach me the charm?" she blurted out after a while, "it would, err, come in handy," she coloured.

"Indeed?" he drawled, and pretended to think a great deal over it. "Alright," he sighed, donning a put-upon expression.

Her mischievous grin would remain with him for a long time to come.


	13. Masks

Hermione was pleased to have the school term starting soon.

But she was more worried than pleased.

Of course it would be good to see the boys again. It had been too long it seemed.

On the other hand, she would miss spending so much time with Snape. It was absurd, yes, but he had become something of a friend.

The only man who would understand exactly what she was going through at this point of time. Ron and Harry, wonderful as they were, would never be able to understand.

She washed her face, and scrubbed thoroughly, watching the water in the basin turn murky white.

She wasn't stupid enough to use glamour; Snape would sense it at once.

Just like she sensed his.

The catch was that while he could demand that she see Madam Pomfrey and reduce the hours spent working, she couldn't be allowed the same demands.

It was unfair, but he was considered an adult, and capable of handling consequences; not to mention, he'd been at this game for over a decade. She, on the other hand, was still considered an over-exuberant student, incapable of understanding such actions and consequences.

Snape, she was sure, had noticed the fatigue, but it hadn't struck him that she would be cunning enough to hide using muggle methods.

Concealers were a muggle masterpiece, in ode to their obsession with flawlessness. She smiled grimly at her reflection, and it came out more like a grimace, causing the mirror to gasp and mutter "obstinate woman."

Hermione chuckled and replied, "I am that," before walking out of the bath. It would be simple enough to use a glamour in front of the students. The more observant ones would probably be women, and would be placated with a simple explanation of holiday adventure scars or sunburns.

Sunburns would do nicely; she _was_ supposed to have been in the Bahamas.

She knew Snape would not guess it, not yet at least. He would put two and two together quite soon.

He would be able to notice the fatigue, but not anything else. Lately, he had taken to observing her a lot, as she had him.

They were an odd pair, really. It warmed her heart that he would consider her worth his efforts. He was being unnaturally kind, and she knew once term began, it would change back to the usual snark and spite.

But this time, she would know.

She imagined he would have similar, if not worse circles around his eyes, and the sallow tint was more from his lack of proper nutrition. She didn't want to guess at why he always kept himself covered neck to toe to knuckles, but she had a good idea.

It made her more determined to help him with his burdens. Just by giving him a chance to enjoy his teaching, just that once, just for the two of them.

And he in turn, taught her like an adult, treated her like a comrade in arms, and in general, let her have some insight into the man he really was.

Hermione had started to admire him, flaws and all, and appreciate his work and sacrifices.

This shared knowledge had formed a bond between them. Nothing magical, just something borne out of secrets and lies, and sympathy.

She smiled. It was good. She could talk to him should she wish, and know that he wouldn't mock her, or crush her. She thought back to the glade, and felt content in having him on her side.

Flopping down on her bed, she waved her hand and summoned parchment. Oh, she smacked her head, she should be more careful. The students would become suspicious at her newfound wandless magic.

She also knew Snape was the new Defence teacher. He had informed her and given her a head start into non-verbal, wandless and their combination. She had been awed at the easy power he had generated. If she were ever on the business end of his wand (or temper) she'd be very ware, and not just a little terrified.

Hermione had been even more surprised when he taught her how to conserve power, how to unlock the true power, that most magical folk blocked, just like how most people were known to use 1% or less of their natural intelligence.

Usually the power manifested when it was necessary. Snape had taught her to harness it, to call it at will, and still not tire out easily. It had thrilled her to no end, and he had seemed flustered at her enthusiastic and heartfelt thanks.

She giggled; Severus Snape, the fearsome man, was afraid of emotional confrontations. It had made her smile and grin, and he had snapped with no real bite.

Yes, she would miss him.

She jotted down the subjects she would be taking, and started on the supplies she would need; Quills, parchment, biros, notebooks. She expected she could owl order the cosmetics, and Crookshank's food. He had been annoyed with her for not being around, but had accepted her peace offering of filet, and a promise of working it out during term.

She sighed, having finished the lists. It was not eleven, and there was still too much time till dawn.

Hermione put away the parchment, books and quill, and settled in to try and sleep. It was a ritual she tried to do every night. Every night she would sleep fitfully, till eventually nightmares drew her out of sleep.

Now she also dreamed that Harry and Ron would shun her when they learned what she was doing. Then she would get up crying, and lie still till it was a respectable hour to wake up.

Snape was right; the cursed magic twisted her thoughts, dug out her worst fears, and plagued her with nightmares of the worst kind. It curled around her guilt and tried to mask it. It attempted to soothe her fears with temptation.

If she were to let her guilt be hidden, her fears be shunned, it would consume her.

And she was sure as hell not going to let that happen anytime soon. Or anytime, period.

Everytime she felt the tiredness seeping in, and the whispers began to sound louder, she thought of Harry, of Ron, and of Snape. She thought of all the concern they would show her, and all the care they would have for her. In the end, she would find herself sweating and flushed from the effort.

But she always won.

She didn't want to think of what would happen if she didn't.

As a vaguely disturbed sleep took her, she thought what Snape had had, to keep him from temptation.


	14. Observations

Two weeks into term, and Hermione started to worry. Her last session had been too many days ago.

She hadn't been able to talk to Snape at all. She obviously couldn't go to his office and talk, not when there were other Slytherins around. He rarely came for meals in the Hall anymore, except for the welcoming feast, where his appointment was met with the expected response.

Slytherins had cheered; Gryffindors had gaped and looked like codfish. The rest of them were torn in between the two, and ultimately remained politely aloof.

She had almost smiled, but caught herself in time. It wouldn't do to have Ron or Harry or anyone else notice. She thought it highly unlikely, since they were too busy imitating varied forms of animal life, but in case someone was watching.

Although the headmaster had met her eye and given a barely perceptible nod, which she returned. It was something akin to a shared secret.

Snape had also glanced at her and nodded minutely, in the pretence of glaring at Harry, who had shown his shock quite audibly, much to her advantage. Everyone was too busy staring/glaring/supporting him to notice her small smirk, directed at the man at the head-table.

Hermione briefly felt guilty for hiding things from the boys, and not exactly being supportive of their reactions, but only briefly. They would never understand.

The first of September went rather smoothly, with Harry distracted after Sirius, and Ron just happy to get away from his parents' reactions to the Ministry fiasco last term. The Weasleys were glaring and warning and in general, annoying Ron to keep away from stupid stunts.

Hermione secretly agreed with that last statement. Was it her imagination or was Ron being rather subdued? It could be because of his restricted summer, but then he should be jubilant to get away, shouldn't he?

In fact, there was had been much distraction, that no one noticed that she had turned up with Professor McGonagall, and not with her parents as usual.

Good, Hermione had thought. She needn't have fretted over answering awkward questions. She supposed, at the relieved look on the professor's face, that she wasn't the only one thinking it.

She brought herself back to the hurried, hushed conversations happening around her. Harry seemed highly agitated, and Hermione wondered if anyone actually talked with him about Sirius. She also thought Harry was placing too much emphasis on Snape's workings, when he clearly was on their side.

After Sirius, Harry obviously blamed Snape, and she knew he was aware of how unfair that was. But they needed someone to place the blame, and who else to serve the purpose than the most disliked person in their circle?

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the dour man. It took all her control not to snap at their childish antics and grudges. She would have to watch herself around these two, but she wasn't sure how much more of Snape-bashing she could withstand before knocking some sense into their heads.

But to attempt it would mean giving hers and Snape's precarious position away, and she would give her life before having his blood on her hands.

He was the only link.

He was also her colleague and mentor.

Absurd, but true. She liked the man, understood him a little even.

With Dumbledore's summons in the offing, Harry was excited about his lessons, and it was always hushed words that they discussed these things in.

Ron, surprisingly, was proving excellent strategies for the team. It was not hard to notice his techniques were not restricted to brutal tactics, but with a good bit of sneakiness thrown in as well. Well, obviously she was the only one to notice it besides Ron himself.

Harry was only too happy to have inputs to floor the Slytherins. She knew who was training the Slytherin team. Hermione brought her focus back to the book she was reading, and pushed thoughts of Quidditch and Snape to the back.

Later that night, Hermione lay thinking about many things; not all of them connected to Snape. Her feelings for Ron were re-kindled the moment she saw him at King's Cross. It was hard not to think of him, when they were always so close. In light of her emotional state with respect to him, she found it harder to concentrate on her studies and "extra-credit work." It was with startling clarity that she realised Ron had done some growing up himself. The ministry fight must have made him look at things with a fresh light.

A small part of her hoped that his concern when she lay gasping and bleeding on the floor, was more than just for friendship. She hoped that he had realised that following Harry blindly was not the best of things, that if the order hadn't turned up, they'd probably have been dead or worse.

She remembered his blue eyes and his blood streaked face; she remembered his hand warm around her own, and gripping tightly. His re-assurances and words of comfort.

But mainly, his eyes; too bright with unshed tears, and a fierce determination within them that took her breath away. It was the last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness, and woke up days later in the Hospital wing.

The memory remained, and she replayed it over and over again.

A small tapping noise distracted her thoughts, and she realised a large owl was knocking at the window. September was unnaturally chilly this time, so the windows remained closed.

She got up to let the bird in, and it gratefully came into the warmth of the room. Parvathi mumbled something in her sleep, but didn't wake. The bird settled on her recently vacated bed, and stuck a leg out, imperious and arrogant.

Unrolling the small scroll, her heart leapt when she realised it was from Snape.

_Ms. Granger,_

_Next week, precisely on the 19__th__,__after dinner, would be an acceptable time to discuss your extra-credit work for Potions. _

_Try not to waste my time, and do not be late._

_-Professor S. Snape._

He didn't have to make it sound so chiding.

Okay, well, he probably did. Atleast there were no cutting remarks. Hermione nodded to the owl, and pulled some owl treats she kept in her trunk for Hedwig.

Once the bird went on it's way, she realised belatedly that September the 19th was not so convenient, after all. She sighed, the boys had a Quidditch strategy board session in the locker rooms anyway.

What a way to spend a birthday. The upside being she didn't have to spend it alone.

She sighed and lay back down, opening a book from beside her pillow. A whispered password later, she was studying the uses of potions in warfare.

Biological warfare.


	15. Quiet Killers

Hermione was sure; After all this she might lose the love for concocting potions.

Forever.

It was not hard, inasmuch as the actual testing, but it was horrifying.

Her homework from Snape, sent via owl (in the middle of the blooming night, no less, and keyed to her magic) left her wondering if the man never slept, on a side note. The contents of said homework, made her two shades paler.

And a lot more cranky.

Harry had taken to avoiding touchy subjects (which were quite a few) and Ron was being a prat again. She was mad at Harry for using that stupid potions' book anyway.

Ron was a prat.

Anyway, here she was, curtains drawn, frowning and solving Arithmantic equations to the success of potions, hating the war on the whole.

Her homework was to understand the human anatomy, and create a theoretical potion to kill, torture, or otherwise incapacitate the drinker. There were many, many ingredients that could be used for all the above, but the catch was: it must be undetectable.

Of course it had to be undetectable; as if you wouldn't notice that your wine turned black, or your pumpkin juice turned green.

You'd definitely notice if your tea started steaming and fizzing.

She had thought of muggle drugs, but they all had side effects. Granted, they could be used to kill the dumber ones who wouldn't get suspicious if they were suddenly happy or seeing colours or feeling extremely lascivious; Why would you waste subtle poisoning on them anyway? Far easier to feed them the fizzing tea.

Dead men told no tales.

No, Snape had responded (via an angry looking owl that Hermione had the misfortune of petting) _Not good enough_.

She had worked for days, and come up with more burned parchments than all of last year. The silencing spell she had learned from Snape was brilliant, but if one paid close attention, it was too quiet in the area. Unnaturally so.

But she lived with girls who thought a bad hairstyle was apocalypse arrived, so it was not an issue.

Hermione made a note to find a way to get internet access. There were several muggle drugs that would kill without a trace. Problem was, she couldn't ask anyone.

_Hi mum, can you get me a list of slow, untraceable poisons from the internet, or from a medical journal? It's for this project I'm doing, see?_

She snorted; it would as likely get them demanding to see Dumbledore.

Her parents thought she had stayed with friends and then at school for project work. Her friends thought she had stayed with her parents and surfed the seas.

It was quite effective really. Her parents and friends weren't exactly avid pen pals.

"Let me see now," she repeated the equation for balancing and harmonising ingredients, and chewed her quill. Simple ingredients and effective. Hmm, therein lays the rub.

"Belladonna, of course," she was using it as a base for most of her formulas. It was stable, and used even by students. The equation flickered and stabilised.

"To counter the fast effects, we should have powdered bezoars, minute amounts," the equation turned grey, indicating nullification. The exact quantities and order of addition for the two ingredients had to be figured out with other equations and discussion, Snape had told her; For theory, this was sufficient.

"Hmm, Asphodel for slowing down metabolism and blood flow," black indicated the potion formula was now active.

"Leech juice?" the equation flickered for too long and she feared she might have used the wrong one, but returned to black. Hmm, interesting, academically; Hermione shuddered. Two days with an anatomy and systems text, Hermione had come up with several options and methods of destroying the human body, methodically and disturbingly easily.

This was her fourth option, slow, painless (for the most part) and difficult to detect. It would create effects that could be blamed on a weak heart.

"Scurvy grass, to add confusion," the equation came dangerously close to collapsing. Not so simple after all, she thought. Maybe Lovage would be more stable; she had to ask him. If it balanced, there could be success in brewing. That would be decided by Snape.

"Hellebore, for reducing adrenalin," the equation turned purple, indicating she couldn't add much more to this volatile mixture. She had a sudden idea.

Carefully replicating the equation thus far, onto a fresh parchment, she kept the two fairly far apart before containing them both in bubbles. Some equations had a nasty effect of setting fire to the parchment, especially the ones she was creating. Fire was an occupational hazard in this case.

To the one on right, she mumbled "Argentum," and held her breath. Tiny sparks emerged from the parchment, and the colours danced about. Finally, the equation settled back in a bright blood red.

It balanced.

She felt a horrifying sense of victory, and then turned to the other parchment.

"…" she couldn't think of something poisonous but stable, and easy to find.

Looking into the book of ingredients Snape had given her (didn't have to hide that one) she rummaged to the index, flipped back and forth for a bit before shrugging and mumbling "Euphorbia tirucalli."

Nothing.

Hermione waited for a full minute and watched the parchment. Still nothing.

Oh well, disappointed that the last ingredient was not reactive enough, she turned to the first parchment and removed the bubble. Copying out the list of ingredients on one sheet, she started the outline on the other.

_**Form**__: Potion_

_**Application**__: Internal/ Consumption_

_**Use: **_

_**Target Species: **__Humans, werewolves._

She hesitated, and then shrugged.

_**Use**__: Poison – fatal._

_**Name**__: Formula 14 _

Not very creative, but it was the 14th formula she had tried. Besides, if this already existed, no point in re-inventing the wheel. Breathing deeply, she began to describe its effects.

_In this particular form, Formula 14 is expected to be added to another non-reactive liquid, or ingested directly by the target. _

_The base ingredient is belladonna, a common poisonous extract, which, in itself is not fatal. Bezoar is added in a proportional quantity for slowing the effects, without completely neutralising (debatable). _

_Asphodel, as its use suggests, can reduce metabolism and also the flow of blood, causing sluggish behaviour, but also allowing for the poison to have sufficient time to be absorbed early on. Concentrated doses without widespread application can reduce the amount required to cause intended effects, while lack of oxygen hinders the immune systems [a side-effect of reduced blood flow._

_Leech juice is expected to be a main ingredient, to cause shrinking of the blood vessels, again, reducing the amount of oxygen distributed while bringing the poison to a concentrated level.(again, debatable)_

_Scurvy grass for inflammation of the brain, and cause of confusion, to counteract quick-thinking for antidotes and/or clear explanation of symptoms for communication._

_Hellebore for reducing adrenalin, keeping target calm; although this could go against the purpose. Considering that it reduces the body's natural response – panic- that might tip off the target to the poisoning. If the target doesn't feel panicky, realisation of effects of poison might be delayed._

_Silver will weaken werewolves if not kill them outright, as it is postulated that they have greater immunity to poisons. Silver also has the effect of strengthening potion effects, ensuring that the potion will not break down too soon, rendering it ineffective._

_Taste cannot be predicted at this stage, but might be more metallic/bitter. _

Hermione shuddered as she re-read the parchment. Tucking the second parchment with the first one, with an added note for Snape to try and fix the last ingredient for the other formula (Formula 15 she named it), she charmed both parchments to look like a boring essay on the uses of monkshood. Then, she summoned Dobby (who squeaked loudly, landing on the bed), and instructed him to hand it to Snape personally, if he was awake in his quarters, or come straight back. Dobby looked at her strangely before nodding and disappearing.

Glancing at the clock, she realised it was nearly one am, and had she not used the silencing charm, her roommates would have woken at Dobby's racquet. When Dobby didn't return a while later, Hermione considered the delivery made, and tried to sleep.


	16. Sleep

Not bad, he thought, this would work. Of course the Silver had to be removed; it was much too traceable, and leech juice had to be added in careful quantities and order if it were to not hinder the effects of the poison.

Otherwise, this seemed to be ready for the next set of equations. He was more than a little horrified at the explanation, but he was proud of her advances. It caused his chest to constrict that he was teaching a young girl to kill. He wondered if this was how the Dark Lord felt, and then dismissed it. The Dark Lord felt no remorse.

"It is not in how you are alike, but how you are different," Dumbledore had told him.

No matter how much it pained him, he had to agree.

He felt it now. He felt it for her; he felt it for the children who had forever lost their innocence to this bloody war. It made his resolve stronger. He would help end this war or he'd die trying.

It was most likely the latter, but he'd die knowing he'd done something. And after that blessed peace, there was nothing left for him to worry about. It would be rest, at last.

Snape chased these morbid thoughts out of his mind, and concentrated on the formula in front of him. He'd replicated the equation and contained it, and began the slow process of refining it. Of course they'd have to figure out the antidote as well, but that was for later.

It was a bit like Jenga, the muggle game built out of purely mathematical calculations. Arithmancy was knowing what structure to use, what variables to pool, and then calculating the outcome. It was a lot like Muggle mathematics, with the added complexity of magic.

Arithmancers were in demand on both sides, and he had only heard of the Dark Lord's Arithmancer; he didn't even know if it was a man or a woman, or some non-human species. Rumour had it there was a vampire in the role, but it was unlikely. Of course Dumbledore had Vector. No one but himself, Dumbledore and McGonagall knew of her work for the order. Several had guessed, but no one knew for sure.

He was good at it, but she was better. They often conversed about minor issues or problems, but mostly she kept to herself.

Now, he saw the equation titter and grow strained on removing silver. Removal was trickier than addition. In time, it stabilised and Snape concentrated on removing the leech juice.

The equation collapsed and the parchment was reduced to a smouldering pile of ash.

Ah, Leech juice had to be in there, then. She was right, it was connected to two other ingredients, and the bond was too strong. Snape sighed. Fine, they'd deal with the risk. But silver had to go.

Once he had repeated the removal of Silver and stabilised the remaining ingredients, he set on the next task of order. Ingredients didn't unravel like a stack, in the reverse order of their addition. They worked in a complicated sequence.

He realised he had said he'd wait for her to work this out, but he was too curious. Besides, this would take the better part of several hours, and it was already after two.

Which brought him back to the point he had pondered on, before he had seen the formula. What on earth was she doing up so late? The scroll was delivered to him nearly at one am. She should have been asleep. Was she studying again? Or was there so much course work that she couldn't spare time except by skipping sleep?

Again, he felt anger rise at this position of hers and his. It was brutal; the girl already drove herself too hard. Dumbledore's grand plan would make her crash.

He could no longer neglect the tiny part of his brain that keep tugging, asking him that maybe this was not a sporadic occurrence? She had seemed to be handling the Dark Arts' effects a little too well.

But he recalled that she didn't look tired, and there was certainly no glamour. Maybe she was stronger than he thought.

Hmm, interesting.

He looked back at his parchment and scrawled down the Equation for Order. It was a long and tedious process.

An hour later, he was no closer to a solution, and he had to be up in less than four hours. He groaned and stretched. He really should get some sleep.

Taking the parchments with him (the non-burned or otherwise destroyed ones), he made his way to his quarters. He would look at it tomorrow.

Speaking of, it was tomorrow, and Ms. Granger was due to come in the next evening. Fine then, he'd look at it then.

Lying down, he briefly thought if the silly girl never slept. It was not healthy. He knew, having been suffering from insomnia, driven by unbearable images when his mind was otherwise unoccupied.

It made one...

Cranky, snappy, tired and unpleasant, in general.

He shot up, finally making the connection between the Weasley and Potter boys' behaviours. Not to mention Granger's. They were under a rift of some sort, and what he had previously assumed was a romantic tiff, suddenly didn't fit well at all.

So she was not sleeping.

He lay back down, irritated that she wouldn't come to him.

"She's trying to not disappoint you, Severus," Dumbledore had said, more or less.

But would she think asking for help would disappoint him?

He ran a tired hand over his face; of course she thought it would! He didn't tolerate it in class, she obviously thought it was worse here. Maybe she was trying to reason out that if he could handle it, so could she.

And look where that had brought him.

He resolved to bring this out into the open at their next session. The girl had to rest. She would collapse at this rate. Minerva would flay him if that happened. He wouldn't have to fear the Dark Lord in front of an enraged Minerva.

He chuckled. It would be just like that, he thought. Granger was the mini version of McGonagall, only this was going to change that. Minerva was not tainted like she was.

Like they were.

He knew they were the ones abandoned on the path. He had walked it alone, now she joined him. He was torn between having her there, and hating that she was there. It did not get better with time.

Daily, she progressed a little more into this grey land, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He succumbed to an uneasy sleep.

In the Gryffindor tower, two others slept with fear as their bed-partners.


	17. Older

He wasn't at breakfast.

Nor at lunch.

Hermione sighed. No owls from him either. She was curious to see what he thought of her ideas; it was safe to assume, by the lack of derisive comments, via owls or otherwise, that he felt the idea had some merit.

She had long since given up attaching any sentiment to the work they were doing. It was purely academic, and it was much easier if they removed the human factor from it.

Truth be told, Hermione didn't want to think of what she was really doing; not when she could help it. They surfaced at night anyway.

"Hermione!" someone yelled in her ear, and she started visibly. Turning blankly at the source of said yelling, she found Harry looking at her with a strange expression.

"I'm sorry Harry; I was just wool gathering," she smiled, "what was the matter?"

"Hermione? This is waiting for you," he pointed at the table.

She blushed, noticing the owl sitting in front of her, bearing an oblong box tied with a golden bow.

"Oh!" she cried, previous thoughts forgotten, as she reached for the box. Ron offered the owl some pieces of beef, and Hermione smiled at him. At least he was cutting her some slack on her birthday. It had been a rather nice morning, the boys had been showering her with affection and gifts.

"Its..." she gaped, "beautiful..." she breathed, and gaped some more.

In the oblong box, was a beautiful eagle feather quill, and the engraving on the inside of the lid (set in maroon velvet no less) indicated that the nib was pure gold, with enchantments for never ending ink, and was charmed with anti-theft spells.

She felt incapable of moving. It was something she had once seen at Flourish and Blott's; it was too expensive for her to buy.

"Who's it from?" Harry asked, obviously amused at her complete slack-jawed look.

"Erm," she looked inside the box and found a small scrap of parchment underneath it. Her heart thudded when she recognised the spiky scrawl. He had bought this for her?

_Ms. Granger,_

_I suppose greetings are in order. Minerva wouldn't stop blathering on about the celebrations at breakfast. Perhaps you could accept this and make her stop._

_-S. S._

Hermione fought a giggle, and glanced up the empty seat discreetly. Before she could stop him, Harry had snatched the note and was staring at it.

She gulped and waited for the explosion.

"It's empty," he scowled, "I wonder what's funny about that!"

"Oh!" she giggled, "it's just a standing joke between me and Victor, is all," she lied smoothly.

"Victor eh?" Ron snarled and pushed out of the great hall. Hermione and Harry looked at each other and sighed.

"It is beautiful," Ginny supplied, looking over her shoulder. Hermione nodded and touched the feather reverently.

Instantly, the feather glowed and if you would believe it, purred! Hermione was taken slightly aback, but she explained that the feather was now tuned to her touch. She mentally made a note to thank Snape later on. It was too generous a gift really!

The rest of lunch went smoothly, except for the lack of Ron at the table. Hermione was starting to tire of his behaviour. Yes, she had kissed victor, and yes, it had been good. He had no right to behave in so childish a manner. Ginny had no right to say those things, but he had no right to interfere in her life either.

She knew how Ginny felt, so perhaps she was being biased.

It still didn't give Ron the prerogative for taking it out on her. It was one of those classic "with or without you" situations between her and Ron.

She sighed and rose to leave for the next class, which was, potions. She never thought she'd miss Snape as the teacher, but ever since Slughorn had started teaching, Hermione had been increasingly aware of how she had felt Snape's absence keenly.

She smiled, not noticing Harry's keen observation of her behaviour.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, with the boys hurriedly polishing off their meal to make it to the meeting, and Hermione's contemplation of Snape, who was now poking at his plate. He couldn't be eating very much, and seemed to be losing weight.

Hmm, interesting.

The headmaster was leaning over his plate to say something to him, but Snape merely sneered at him and left the hall. When she looked at the headmaster, she blushed, realising that he had been observing her watching the potions' master. She smiled meekly and returned to her plate.

Harry, in a rare show of affection, kissed her forehead, and wished her a happy birthday, promising to be back soon. She beamed at him, making him blush a little, before he all but ran from the hall.

Ginny had a wistful expression on her face, that Dean misinterpreted, drawing her close to his side. Startled, she only sighed and leaned in.

Hermione felt truly sorry for her. If only Harry could puck up the courage to ask her!

Reminding herself that it was none of her business, she rose to leave for her meeting with Snape.

On the way, she dropped into the abandoned girls' bathroom to remove her glamour and work muggle magic into her face.

"Ooooh, boy trouble making you lose sleep?" moaning Myrtle cackled gleefully, and Hermione only ignored her, finished up, and left. The ghost screamed and sloshed into one of the toilets, and Hermione was temporarily disgusted.

On the way to the dungeons, she saw no one, and surmised that they were all still enjoying a long dinner before the weekend. No one had any reason to hurry on a Friday night.

"Enter," he spoke and she pushed open the door. His head was bent over marking papers, and she wasn't sure whether to disturb him or not.

He beat her to it.

"Ms. Granger, close the door, you are letting in the cold." How did he know it was her?

He scratched something else onto the parchment and she waited to be instructed further. A few minutes later, he pushed aside the stack and raised his eyes to meet hers. She blushed and opened her mouth, but nothing came. He only smirked and beat her to speaking, again.

"I had planned a practical session today," he started and she tried not to cringe. "But," he continued, "in light of the occasion," he sneered, "we could settle with a reading session, perhaps?"

She sensed the challenge, and saw the glint in his eye. "We should keep with the lesson plans, Sir," she raised her chin and met him square on.

An unreadable expression flitted across his face before he nodded tightly and gestured towards the fireplace, "If you are sure?"

She didn't reply; instead, she pulled up a bit of Floo powder and threw it into the fire before stepping in and uttering the destination. As she turned to face him, she thought she saw a half smile on his face.

Nonsense, she probably had imagined it. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, they had entered the "Bermuda triangle," as she had nicknamed it, and there were several test creatures stacked near the perimeter. Hagrid often visited to feed and take care of any creatures that needed tending to.

She knew it broke his heart to have these animals here, but he did it anyway. She sighed softly; there were so many sacrifices made. A soft cough brought her out of her reverie and she looked over at Snape, who had taken off his outer robe and hung it on a tree branch. She followed suit, and went to stand next to him.

Here, he paused and gave her a sidelong glance; she was suddenly apprehensive, and a moment later, she realised that he had planned something unpleasant. She mentally smacked herself. He had offered her a way out, and she had stubbornly refused it. How truly Gryffindor of her!

"Ms. Granger," he intoned, and she turned slightly to look at him. He seemed to hesitate, and then spoke in a neutral tone, "I was intending to have you practice the Unforgivables today, however," he paused at her cringe, "I wish to ask you one more time. Are you sure you want to continue?"

She thought over a moment and then shrugged, "I don't think it makes a difference if it is my birthday or not, Professor. He could attack on Christmas, and it would be no reason not to fight then. No time like the present."

She was astounded with the expression on his face, so open for her to see. She knew she had answered in a way that made him respect her. She flushed at the intensity in his eyes, and looked away.

A moment later, he approached the cages and picked that of a small vole. Hermione steeled herself and took up her standard pose.

He released the vole onto the raised platform that served as a table, and petrified it. He stepped away and moved to stand behind her. She gulped and waited for his command.

"Kill it," he hissed, harsh and unforgiving.

Her wand hand shook and she felt tears sting her eyes. Nothing.

She continued to stare at the helpless little creature in front of her, and shook her head slightly.

"Kill it," his voice was softer, and he was closer to her. She shook, tears falling, and shook her head again.

He was so close, she could feel the heat from his body. A black clad arm was raised beside her own, his own wand pointed at the creature.

"Please," she whispered, and there was no response, except for a muttered "Crucio."

The vole squeaked and squealed, piercing the night air and destroying her control. "No!" she screamed, and tried to force his arm down.

He was, apparently made of steel. Even grabbing with both hands, her wand digging into his flesh, his hand didn't budge more than an inch.

"Kill it!" he snarled, renewing the curse on the creature. Hermione wanted to hurl sharp words at him, call him a cruel man, but she bit her tongue and stood, staring at the writing creature. She understood that the death of the creature was much better than this inhuman torture.

"Avada Kedavra!" she hurled the words, pointed at the vole, and hoped that it would die. The creature was squealing and squeaking and tearing her insides.

A jet of green light shot from her wand, and the vole lay motionless.

Snape's and her arms still positioned in the air. Hermione was too shocked to react. She had just killed. Intentionally. Her arm began to shake and it spread to the rest of her body. Her knees gave out.

Quick as lightning, Snape had grabbed her, lowering her gently to the ground. His kindness, after his cruelty thus far, seemed to break her reserve. Turning in his grasp, she buried her face in his chest, and beat his back with her fists.

He swallowed, and let her.

Tentatively, arms came up around her, and she felt him rest his cheek on the top of her head.

Tears started afresh, and she sat there, a long time, in his embrace, hating herself and him, and the world at large. She sniffled and breathed in the scent that was familiar to her.

"I thought you had to bring out hate to kill," she whispered after a while. She was content here, like this, and he didn't seem too eager to let go as well.

"Indeed. You hated the suffering." He spoke into her hair.

Slowly, she raised her head , and he began to let go, but she grabbed the front of his shirt, making him stop.

He frowned, and she belatedly realised her mistake. Oh dear.

A long finger touched her face, beneath her eyes, and Hermione leaned into the touch. She knew there was an impending explosion, judging by the way his face hardened.

Without thinking, she buried her face in his shirt, and he froze for a long moment, during which Hermione fully expected him to shove her and walk away. Instead, she was surprised (as he was, she figured) when he sighed and gave in.

She smiled into his shirt, causing him to chuckle. The reverberations went through his chest, and she felt it, causing her smile to widen. He muttered something about "manipulative witches" and returned his cheek to the top of her head.

It was nice, Hermione realised, to be here, with him, to be able to expect him to understand. She was very grateful for his support. It relieved her to no end that he hadn't shunned her and left her to suffer this on her own.

Refusing to think about anything else except the here and now, Hermione relaxed into his arms.

Snape, realising that this was going to continue for a bit, muttered an incantation that had them seated on a plush armchair. Hermione wondered if he had had to calm other students this way; perhaps it was a part of his Head of House duties to take care of distraught students.

She chose to ignore the pang of jealously that went through her at this thought. She had no intention of dissecting that line of thought right now.

Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes. Later, she told herself. We'll think of everything else later.


	18. Stars

The girl had fallen asleep. In his arms.

He hoped that the headmaster didn't walk in at this moment. It would not do to have him keel over and leave things half baked.

He sighed, and she mumbled something.

A smile unbidden, grew on his face, and he relaxed into the chair. For all the bravado she displayed, she was just a little girl.

The thought made him grow sombre. Children in an adults' war. He shook his head and muttered "tempus".

An hour left for curfew. He supposed he could let her sleep here at least, if not in her own bed. Conjuring an ottoman, he raised his feet without disturbing her, and rested them atop the plush footstool.

He settled himself a little more comfortably. He had experience of this sort with first year girls and sometimes boys, but never any sixth years. She weighed too less, he noted, and added that to the growing list of "things to admonish Ms. Granger for."

Next time, he told himself, he would talk to her about it. He would of course, tell Minerva and Albus too.

He saw the stars were out tonight. It was warm within the dome, and the sky was calm and beautiful. He traced patterns with his eyes, all the time aware of the girl's growing restlessness in her sleep. Not long after she had fallen asleep, she had started to mutter and move a little. Now, it had grown into full fledged trashing and crying. Knowing nothing else, he embraced her and spoke nonsensical words of comfort, as best as he knew how to comfort.

He shushed her, and rested his cheek once again on her hair, unruly as it was. He was quickly getting used to this, which disturbed him more than a little. But here, in the middle of nowhere, he figured rules didn't apply as strictly. It had been so long that he had received willing company, and this girl trusted him enough to let herself fall asleep here. It moved something in his chest. There was a little selfish motive on his part as well.

* * *

She woke to an insistent but gentle shaking of her shoulder. Mumbling for another five minutes, she tried to pull the blanket closer, but was surprised to find it quivering with suppressed laughter.

Oh. OH!

She blushed and let go of his shirt, and looked up into his amused eyes. Nothing was said for a long moment, and then he said, "It is nearly curfew; we should be getting back."

She nodded and untangled herself from him, realising he had draped his robe to cover both of them. She was sure her face and ears were on fire, as she handed the robe back to him.

"Thank you," she said softly, and looked up then, "for everything."

He only nodded, face expressionless once again, and gestured that they leave. As she followed him back to Hagrid's through the hidden path, she contemplated the puzzle that was Severus Snape. It was hard to understand him, even a little.

He was silent the entire way, and even when they Flooed to his office to retrieve her book bag. While she packed, he fire-called Minerva, and made sure there was no one to witness Hermione's arrival at her office. He nodded to her, and said he would expect her in his office the following morning no later than ten.

She nodded back, and thanked him again. Just before she tossed the powder in the fire, she recalled his gift. Making a decision, she put down her book-bag. He frowned at her movement, but was frozen in place when she hugged him full on.

"The gift was wonderful. Thank you ever so much!" and before he could say anything, she was gone in a flurry of robes and hair and trailing book-bag.

Bizarre, he concluded, was the word of the day.

Entering his quarters, he took off his robe, and noticed that she had trailed Floo powder all over his back.

Remembering the events of the evening, he shook his head.

Bizzarre.


	19. Deja Vu

_A/N: Warning for people who have issues with WIKTT theme. Pretty long chapter, I hope it doesn't bungle up the plot. If it does, please tell me, and I'll revise accordingly. Thanks to everyone who wait patiently for updates and leave wonderful/ helpful reviews. _

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"Formula 15 didn't balance completely because you added a weak poison. Milk of the particular species of cactus is not poisonous enough; it may cause minor issues, but not even a fever."

"What about Formula 14?"

"That one is adequate, although you'll see I have removed Silver."

"So will it be sufficient to kill werewolves?"

"I would think that a stronger dose of Belladonna would work to incapacitate, if not kill."

"That is a risk."

"We have no test subjects."

"Silver would point to heavy metal poisoning?"

"Not necessarily. Silver is easily detected on general scans."

"Ah, I see. So is there any way of killing werewolves?"

"Perhaps. There has been debate among the scholars of the _ars alchemica _on whether the ancient art of converting any metal to precious metals can be triggered within the system."

"Silver from the inside?"

"Exactly. A highly complicated incantation exists that converts metal to gold, and a variation exists to convert into silver."

"The Midas Touch, so to speak?"

"Indeed. There are maybe two or three people in the world who can utter that incantation and not be killed."

"Is Dumbledore one of them?"

Snape gave her a strange look, "why would you think that?"

"Well," she blushed, "everyone says he is the most powerful wizard known to us."

"The key word being 'known'; no Ms. Granger, he cannot do it. Neither can the Dark Lord," he added and she nodded.

"Professor, are there more powerful wizards than Dumbledore and You-Know-Who?"

"Can you not guess?"

"Nicholas Flamel?"

"Indeed."

"I thought he died?"

"No, he is alive yet. Perhaps a few more years before his life ends," he seemed to think back on something and then nodded, "you of course know, that the stone has been destroyed."

"Pity, being the last one and all."

He smirked, "again, you make assumptions because you have no knowledge beyond what you have read or been told."

"I would think it's hard to just come up with knowledge without either."

"Cheeky," he sneered, "no, it was not the only stone on the planet."

Her jaw must have fallen open, he smugly informed her of the same. Once she had realised the value of that bit of information, she ventured, "would it be prudent of me to ask where the other stone is?"

"No, and I wouldn't tell you."

"Does He know?"

"The Dark Lord," he paused for dramatic effect, "has searched, but not been able to locate it."

"I suppose he's ignoring what is in his own pocket," she smiled and raised an eyebrow. He imitated her, and they both had yet another secret.

"Have you understood the theory for the Equation of Order?"

"I have, are we going to work on that today?"

"Yes, but first," he took great pleasure in seeing her expect the yelling, "I do not approve of your hiding things from me, and before you feign innocence," her mouth snapped shut, "I would ask you to consider that I am not to be trifled with."

She bowed her head, a bit miffed yet remorseful.

"I will have an elf deliver a vial of Dreamless sleep with instructions," he paused, "you will report to a medical check-up every month."

"But Sir!"

"You should have thought of whatever objections before you carried out your little bit of mischief," he glared at her and she wisely shut up.

"It's not as if you go for a check-up," she mumbled under her breath.

"Five points from Gryffindor for talking back," he snapped at her; apparently it wasn't quite beyond his hearing. She coloured.

"Now, it has been brought to my notice that you do not eat well enough," he raised his hand to cut off her protests, "Ms. Granger, I lifted you with barely any effort. I believe I am not mistaken in this."

They both fell quiet after this. Hermione blushed, and Snape merely looked uncomfortable. They had not discussed that night, and it was unlikely they would sit over tea to work it out. She needed comforting, he was there; end of story.

But it was not end of story for Hermione. She had fretted and worried and speculated and puzzled over what had happened. He had figuratively ripped the Band-Aid and then kissed it better (not the best choice of words, she thought). But it had happened, and she needed to know what invisible boundaries were there.

Maybe she was reading too much into this. He had behaved like a caring teacher toward a distraught child.

Except Snape was anything but the spitting image of "caring teacher."

Fine then, up Gryffindor.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"About that night..." she paused, unsure how to continue.

"I would prefer that we not talk of it, unless academically inclined."

"Oh, alright."

He sighed. "You will analyse it to death if we don't discuss this, won't you?"

"Err..." she blushed. Damn it! He could colour her six shades of red, at any given time!

"Fine," he breathed out, resigned tone perfected, "ask what you must, but" he glared at her, "be warned of what you ask. Do not overstep your boundaries, or mine."

She nodded, "I just wanted to ask if you have ever had to deal with anyone as distraught as I was."

He eyed her suspiciously, "A word to anyone..."

"I know, Professor," she grinned, "I'll curse the day I was born."

"Insolent brat," he said without bite. What was she doing to him? Aloud, he said, "yes, almost every year there is a first year who is bullied or homesick, and sometimes scared to death of a new world," he gave her a meaningful look.

Muggle-borns, she thought, nodding. She had a pretty traumatic first year too.

"And occasionally, there is a student among the higher years who has been mistreated either here or at their homes, in need of help. Leaving a student to deal with his own trauma will lead to... rash decisions."

At first, she thought of child abuse, and was horrified, and then she noted the glint in his eye, and realised that he was referring to someone close to him. Maybe even himself?

That was not a line of questioning to be pursued with him, she knew. That was the boundary. She merely nodded and said, "Yes, I had a neighbour who killed himself because he was depressed."

"There are worse things than suicide," he said so softly, she nearly missed it.

_Like joining the ranks of the most evil wizard alive._

She was startled at the thought. He had turned away from her, staring at the window charmed to overlook the lake. He was frowning and lost in thought.

Hermione decided that this was a good time as any, to test the boundaries. Walking over to his side, she cautiously touched his arm. He startled visibly, but didn't push her away or hex her into nothingness, and Hermione let out a breath she was holding. He deserved a bit of the kindness she had received from him.

She guided his arm around her shoulders, and laid her head on his. He was staring at her with a distinct look of shock. She giggled.

He had left her side in a flash, storming toward the ante-room. Hermione was confused.

What just happened?

"Professor!"

"Leave, Ms. Granger. I am not your charity case!"

She stopped as if slapped, but he was too far gone to notice. He turned around and stalked back to loom over her.

"We," he spat, "are not friends!" he made the word sound like an insult, and she couldn't help the burning in her eyes.

"You," he pointed a finger at her, "are a student! I will not be mocked by you!"

"I am not mocking you!" she cried, afraid of the fearsome expression on his face. Every muscle in his body screamed of tension, and she was not sure what she had done wrong. He hadn't minded, until...

Oh.

He thought she had been laughing at him.

He had changed direction and stormed out into the corridor headed, presumably, out of the castle. She didn't know whether to risk chasing after him, or wait for him to calm down and work things out.

Except, he had just said that leaving someone to deal with trauma caused rash decisions. Not that this was traumatic for him, but she felt that it was prudent to talk to him. Of course, if he apparated somewhere, she could do nothing about it.

She disillusioned herself and hoped to all things supernatural that Harry hadn't figured out the charm that had been used on the map. It would show two random dots as Snape and Herself. Her dot was spelled to hover between the Library and McGonagall's office, and revert to normal when she was not in contact with Snape. It had taken her and Dumbledore quite a while to figure it out, but they eventually did. It was marvellous magic that the Marauders had used to make the map; she was awed by it. In the end, it came down to Arithmancy and a bit of trial and error.

Had she known, she wouldn't have had to worry. Harry rarely paid attention to any other dot, other than Malfoy.

The hardest part was getting it away from Harry. He had been so obsessed with Malfoy that he had taken to using the map at ever given free moment. She had to do quite a bit of lying and confounding to get it away.

Dumbledore had known all along about the map, of course. She couldn't take it to Snape, fearing that he would confiscate it.

Following him at a run, she was glad there were very few students out, this close to curfew. Anyone trying to enter the grounds disillusioned, would trigger the wards. Generally students didn't know how to perform the spell. It was too complicated. She was sure that Dumbledore would be alerted to the use of the spell inside the castle.

She also hoped that he would assume it was for a good cause and leave her be.

Hermione caught sight of Snape leaving through the main doors. Hurrying to catch up with him, she nearly bumped into a student on the way out.

She found him, stalking toward the lake. She should have known he would come here. It was completely dark, save for the lights in the castle, and there was no one mad enough to be out here in the chilly weather.

Hermione slowed, and he turned slightly from where he stood, obscured by a tree.

"It was unwise to follow me out here," he ground out. Still angry then.

"I wasn't sorted without reason," she spoke softly, once again coming to stand beside him. He moved into the shadow of the tree, and she followed.

"Why are you here, Ms. Granger?" he spoke, tiredness in his voice and manner, "It is almost curfew."

"Prefect, remember?"

"Abuse of power? I would never have thought." His temper had eased up.

"When it suits me," she replied, eliciting a smirk from him. She could barely see his face, but she just knew he was smirking.

"How Slytherin of you," he slid down the tree to sit leaning against its base. She followed his movements with her eyes.

"It's rude to stare."

"I wasn't..." she realised belatedly that he couldn't have possibly known she was looking at him. He had guessed, the Git.

"Fine," she removed the spell and came to stand beside him, looking over the lake. It was peaceful.

"If you are staying, you might as well sit down," he grumbled, and Hermione beamed. Coming from Snape, it was as good as an invitation to his home.

"Thanks," she sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth from his body.

They sat that way, neither compelled to speak, for a while. She heard a rustle and soon felt the familiar wool of his robe surrounding her. Déjà Vu, she thought.

"I wasn't laughing at you," she felt him stiffen, but took hold of his arm in case he decided to flee. "I was just thinking how strange this thing," she gestured with her free hand between them, "we have is."

He said nothing, but he didn't leave. A good sign.

"Indeed," he murmured, and she shivered involuntarily; She knew he was observing her, and it made her nervous.

"We are friends, of a sort, aren't we?" she said, slightly nervous.

"And being friends with you would entail this?" he asked, meaning their current position.

"If you don't mind," she said, "friends help each other out, and occasionally hang out like this."

"In the shadows of a tree on a moonless night?"

She laughed, "maybe," she turned to look at him then. She couldn't see anything but she didn't need light to know the contours of his face, or the slope of his brow.

Letting go of his arm, she tentatively placed both hands on his cheeks. He stiffened, "Ms. Granger, what are you..."

But she shushed him, running her fingers lightly along his face, feeling the lines and ridges and bones beneath the skin. He involuntarily leaned into her touch, and it warmed her heart.

Gathering all the courage she had, she leaned forward, slow enough to let him know of her intentions. She could feel the muscles of his face stiffen and grow warm.

"Ms. Granger," she could feel his breath on her face, "you ought to know this is not part of standard friendship."

"I know," she whispered back, "but would you mind terribly?"

He didn't answer, but one hand came to rest on her cheek, "Foolish girl, what man would mind the attentions of a young and beautiful girl?"

He called her beautiful? She blushed, glad that he couldn't see. "Just this once," she said softly, "I want to know how it feels."

"I'm quite certain you have kissed before," he was closer now.

"Never by you," she said, and afraid of losing her courage, she closed the gap between them, and pressed her lips to his with firm pressure.

The shock that travelled through her was something she had never felt. Judging by the slight shiver that went through his body, she realised that he felt it too.

"I am not a paedophile," he said with a firm tone, "and I will not start now."

"I turned of age this year," she paused, running her thumb along his jaw, "and we both know I am nothing like a child."

"What are you doing to me?" he said harshly before he closed the distance between them for a kiss that took her breath away.

They came up for air, and he rested his forehead on hers, his thumb stroking her jaw, "Foolish girl," he breathed, "do not grow attached to me. It will end in tears and more misery."

"I agree it is likely, seeing that we are two of a kind, and you with so little hope of surviving this war," she pressed her lips to his once again, gently, "but in this time that we have, I would rather take the risk of misery later than do nothing to know you."

He drew her close and held her to his chest, "You wish to give me more to live for, when I have no hope of living. Is this how you wish to torture me?"

She smiled into his chest; He would never change.

"Not torture, no. If you do not survive," her voice caught, "I do not want you to have regrets."

"And you think I would not regret leading you there? To a point of mourning?"

"I would mourn anyway. It would be lessened with memories of more pleasant nature."

"I wish I could spare you from this," he sighed into her hair, "it is much too much to ask of so young a person."

"I knew you would think that way, but do you think," she pushed away from his chest, "that I would rather stand by and watch this happen? I know what I am learning is tainting, but with this knowledge, I will stand better chance of survival; No use in bringing a knife to a gunfight."

He chuckled, and she loved the sound of it.

"Stubborn Gryffindor," he said without malice.

"I am that," she grinned and placed her head back on his chest.

"Come," he said after a while, "your friends will worry."

"Unlikely. They'll probably think I'm asleep in the library again."

"Still, Minerva will have kittens, we must leave."

"Oh alright," she huffed and waited for him to gather his cloak. Pushing him against the tree, she kissed him again.

"Dominant, are we?" he smirked against her neck while she gasped for air. She nudged him playfully and then disillusioned herself again.

They walked back in silence to the castle, mindful of Peeves or Filch. He escorted her to McGonagall's office, where she removed the spell and left for the common room.

The common room was almost deserted, and no one thought it strange anymore that she arrived via Floo. Heading upstairs, Hermione wondered what exactly had prompted her to do what she did tonight.

She wanted this, she realised. It was clear as day that they were both attracted to each other. As much as she wanted to think that it was wrong on their part, she couldn't.

They were thrown together in this chaotic circumstance, and it had grown beyond being just colleagues. Hermione had good reason to believe that indeed, he was the only one who would be able to help and support her through this. It saddened her that he thought himself unworthy or incapable of making someone else happy.

Yes, it was like pulling teeth with the man, but he was the bravest person she knew. Being in his shoes thus far had taught her to understand him in a way no one else could. They shared the experience of playing with darkness of the most terrible kind.

They also shared the experience of resisting its lure.

Shaking her head, she dressed for bed and lay down. With him, she felt safe and protected. Hermione knew that he wouldn't let her slip, as long as he was able.

He would not let her fall.


	20. Explanations

He was avoiding her.

She was sure of it.

Snape had cancelled two of their sessions now. At first she thought it was just that he had too much work to do.

But no, her discrete glances into the map showed that he was usually in his quarters. He was pacing almost as much as Dumbledore these days.

Pacing meant thinking, and judging by how he went out of his way to ignore her, even in class, he was thinking about what had happened.

It was obvious, really. He was worried, based on some arcane noble thoughts, about her reputation. He already had admitted that his reputation had been shot to hell a long time ago.

But it had been before _that _night.

Ron was now officially Keeper for the team, and with the match coming up, and McLaggen stalking her, things were a right mess. Ron kept bickering with her, and she could see that Harry's limited patience had started to fray.

To keep things simple, she had just taken to ignoring things, more often than not.

She had enough on her plate anyway.

This new thing with Snape troubled her. She refused to give it a name; in fact she couldn't find a name for it. It was not friendship, it was not love, it was definitely not pedagogical. There simply wasn't a term to fit it.

And his avoidance affected her in more ways than one. She was angry, naturally, that he refused to talk to her, worried that he was brewing on this alone, and frustrated that their sessions had come to a halt.

It was annoying.

Glancing at her watch, she realised it was nearly time for her rounds. No point in trying to study anyway. She would just have to stop whatever irritating notions going through his head. He had brooded long enough.

She sent a message to the Ravenclaw prefect that she would take the dungeons tonight, thanked the Friar who offered to play owl, and went off to face Snape in one of his moods.

It was vaguely terrifying.

She hurried toward his office, and saw that the door was slightly ajar. Voices were coming from within. With a start, she recognised Malfoy's, and he was arguing.

"I told you! I don't care if you promised mother!"

Snape's voice was barely audible, but it was clear that his temper was barely controlled. Quickly, she ducked into one of the alcoves, belatedly remembering that it could have been otherwise occupied. No matter, she was lucky there was no-one in there.

"Homium revelio!" she thought and made a circle. It was not uncommon for Harry to lurk around under his cloak, and the last thing she needed was Harry barging in on discussions with Snape, hers especially.

"Amplavi Timor," wordlessly, she cast in the direction of the alcove that had lit up, indicating life. Creating fear was one thing, amplifying what existed was entirely too easy. Theory suggested that it would increase the flow of adrenalin (not described that way in Magical texts, how unsurprising), triggering the fight or flight syndrome.

If Harry was under the cloak, spying, there would definitely be flight.

As she expected, whoever was under the cloak took off down the corridor, footsteps muffled. It wasn't necessary that Harry was the only one with access to a cloak of that kind, although it was highly unlikely. She had read that invisibility cloaks were rare, not singularly unique.

Shortly after, Malfoy stormed out of the office while Snape stood at the threshold, watching the retreating figure.

"I would think you would have learned that you cannot shine a torch against the sun."

His voice startled her from thoughts of the conversation she had just heard. Sheepishly, she emerged from the darkness and he turned to face Hermione.

She gasped. His eyes were ablaze with anger and his face pale in the torchlight. She could see he hadn't slept in a while.

Involuntarily she moved to touch him, but stopped at his warning: "Ms. Granger!"

Snape went to close the door, but she interrupted him. "Please," she whispered, "you can't ignore me forever."

Something changed in his expression before he masked it, and nodded for her to enter.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asked him, no sooner than he had locked and warded the door.

"One would think I'd have reason to avoid anyone, and it would be rather strange to think I'd extend the honour to you."

"Stop! Can't you just be plain for once?"

"Five points from Gryffindor for not minding your tone," he snarled. She refused to be cowed.

"Severus, Please!" she cried and tried to approach him. He stepped back and took another five points.

"I don't care about bloody house points you berk! Talk to me!"

"Fifty points for insulting a professor! Do you want me to talk more?"

"Severus, please," she said softly, hating his anger and his manner, "I can't ignore it. Can we please just talk about it?"

His anger deflated, and he sighed tiredly; "there is nothing to talk about, Ms. Granger," he motioned toward the door, "I took advantage of you, and it happened once, it will never happen again."

"You didn't take advantage! It was me, can't you realise that?"

"It doesn't matter who's first step it was," he whispered.

_The fault would be placed entirely on him_, she thought.

"When?" She asked him.

"Never," he replied and crossed the office to his desk.

"I can't accept that."

"It is beyond your control, and immaterial if you _accept _it or not," he sneered. "Remember this: our lessons will not continue till you accept that this will never be."

"Please, don't do this," she whispered, tears starting to form. He was going to be cruel about this.

"I have to, and so do you," he paused, "Hermione, look at me."

Her head snapped up at his use of her first name. His face was neutral, but his eyes…

He came to stand in front of her, and hope blossomed in her chest.

"I cannot tell you much, but there is one more thing I must do for this war," he paused, struggling with himself, "It will be an unforgivable act; the greatest betrayal of your trust. I will not have you hurt, by letting this progress."

"Am I not allowed a choice in this?" anger edged her voice and he sighed, shaking his head.

"Not in this, Hermione. Not in this. I will not let you choose. You can choose to categorise this decision of mine however you please, but it will not change."

She thought it was unfair, that he was being a bastard; that he was being cruel. But deep down she realised that he had considered everything, and she would not help by forcing him into anything.

"Is this your final word?"

"Yes," there was such sadness in his tone, that belied his stony face.

She composed herself, "alright, but if we both survive this damned war," he winced at that, "I will drag you kicking and screaming where I want, is that understood?"

A small smile broke out on his face, and she was mesmerised by it.

"Bossy," he chided and she grinned unrepentantly. Inside, her heart was breaking, but Snape didn't need more on his plate than he already had. She would just have to find a way to make him survive this.

To make both of them survive.

They met halfway and she cried silently into his robes. He kissed the top of her head and muttered nonsense into her hair. She thought of how she would miss him being this way, and cried afresh.

"We yet have to balance Formula 14," she muttered sullenly into his chest.

He chuckled, "yes, this Friday night we shall start. It will take many hours even with the two of us."

She nodded and pushed back a little from his chest, so she wouldn't leave the circle of his arms. "Just promise that you'll never lie to me."

"Have I ever?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, but please don't start. I need you."

"In as far as I can, I won't let you be alone."

"Thank you," she gave him a watery smile.

"No," he said, taking her chin in his hand, "Thank you."

Then pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, he let go of her and returned to the desk. "It is time for you to leave. We will commence sessions on Friday."

And it was over, before it had properly started. Just like that.

Nodding and drawing herself straight, she left via the Floo. Rounds be damned, she was going to bed.


	21. Know thine enemy

"Who are the members of the inner circle?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Anthony Dolohov, Rudolphus Lestrange, Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew. Lucius Malfoy has fallen from grace, while you have taken his place."

"Indeed. Who are the most dangerous?"

"Bellatrix, Lucius and Pettigrew, not to mention you."

"What are their areas of expertise?"

"Bellatrix, although insane, has a keen sense of people, she doesn't trust you still." He nodded for her to continue, "She is an excellent manipulator of spells, especially for torture. She is also immune to Imperius.

"Lucius has no agenda but his own, but he is a shrewd strategist, currently desperate to get back in the Dark Lord's favour. He will stop at nothing to get his way. He is also immune to the Imperius.

"Pettigrew, coward though he is, has a very advantageous Animagus form. He is also currently your houseguest, and cunning worthy of a fox."

"Correct, and me?"

"Highly capable Occlumens and extremely powerful dueller; not to be trifled with. Best kept secret as a Strategist. Wandless magic comes easily to you."

He smirked and added "The Dark Lord's Potions Master." She rolled her eyes.

"All except Pettigrew are accomplished Occlumens. Best defence is Occlumency with tailored memories and wordless spells."

"What are their tipping points?"

"Bellatrix, insult to you-know-who; Lucius insult him, his family or ancestry; Pettigrew fears being trapped, best to not allow him to transform. All of them will be agitated when constantly heckled and associated with muggles."

"Adequate. You missed out on me."

"I…"

"Severus Snape, Ms. Granger; what is his tipping point?"

"Being accused of cowardice."

He didn't say anything, but nodded tightly.

"Who comprise the second tier?"

"Fenrir Greyback, Crabbe and Goyle Sr., Dolohov and Rudolphus Lestrange. Only Fenrir is the greatest threat. Lestrange is not very smart, but he is a capable wizard. Crabbe and Goyle are easy."

"They are not easy," he snapped, "just lesser skilled. The Dark Lord does his pruning well, Ms. Granger."

"I'll take your word on it."

"You'd better. I will not have you slacking off because some Death Eaters seem stupid. Look where it landed the Potters."

She nodded. "Good," he said and went to the front of the classroom.

"You have to understand that the second and lower orders will be what you face first."

"Of course; the infantry before the cavalry, and the cavalry before the archers and last of all the generals, if at all."

"True. The order will be able to help you clear those fairly quickly if it comes to it. Potter will be required to face the inner circle and the Dark Lord in parallel. That is where I will be able to help you, not before."

"They'll turn on you if you try anything!"

"Indeed, that is what I am aiming for."

"You are going to divert partial attention so Harry, Ron and I can have an advantage! No wonder you have no hope of living!"

"Oh ye of little faith," he smirked. She was not amused.

"Severus," she sighed, "is there no other way?"

"Care to come up with one?" he asked coldly, "Shall I poison the Dark Lord and see?"

"No!" she said childishly, "We'll think of another way."

"You," he snapped, "will concentrate on your studies and this. I will take care of the rest."

"But," she started, only to be cut off by him.

"It is not your duty to think with selfish intent," he snarled, and she recoiled as if slapped, "I am no longer your concern in this war. Potter is!"

"Fine!" she snapped back, "see if I care when you go and get yourself killed!"

"I have been playing this game since before you were born, girl," he rose to his full height, "do not presume to think you can best me at it!"

"I wasn't thinking of besting you! I was thinking of helping you!"

"You cannot help me."

They glared at each other for the longest time. She turned away from him, sad and displeased.

"Getting back to the topic at hind," he drawled, "Most of the lower tiers are comprised of people under the Imperius."

She looked at him curiously, "Mass Imperius?"

"Indeed," he said softly, "Imperius is easy for the Dark Lord and the inner circle. Each Death Eater, and the Dark Lord himself, take up casting the curse when needed."

"Do you have to participate?"

"I am a good little Death Eater, Ms. Granger," he sneered.

"Stop," she sighed, and smoothed the fabric over his chest, "we all do what we have to do, remember?"

He nodded and let her play with the buttons on his frock coat. A minute later, he gently disentangled her hand from his coat and stepped back. She sighed again.

"Luckily for me," he continued, "the new form of the Dark mark, though invariant in design, had more than a locator spell on it. It allows the Dark Lord to control all those with that type of mark, through his own.

"Apparently, He had enough time in between forms to understand that adding this factor to the new mark would ensure that he would never again have to endure the isolation and the company of Wormtail, if it comes to that. He can choose to control the new ones and come back immediately."

Hermione shuddered. Voldemort truly didn't want to die. It was terrifying to think of him popping up every time Harry defeated him; IF Harry defeated him.

"I will warn you, Hermione, The Dark Lord is not as naive as Dumbledore portrays him, nor is he overly arrogant or confident. He is afraid of Potter, as he rightly should be. Dumbledore has a way of over-simplifying the situation. It is, as we have argued many times, not a prudent form.

"I am in charge of you, as he is in charge of Potter as you know. I choose to not take chances, even if it means unpleasant lessons to impart," he turned away and she shushed him.

"You don't have to explain it to me."

"I felt it necessary to tell you; you have to be careful. Potter has to remain untainted, and Weasley cannot substitute. It leaves you," he breathed out, "sometimes I wish you had never been friends with him."

Warmth bloomed in Hermione's chest, and she couldn't help the teary smile that grew on her face. She walked up to him, and embraced Snape from behind.

Snape froze momentarily, and then closed his hands over hers, resting on his stomach.

"What will I do with you," he spoke softly, but didn't move away.

"We can hug, can't we? Just as friends?"

"Perhaps, but we must keep our distance."

She sighed into his coat, and he shivered. Letting go of her hands, he gently stepped out of her arms.

His body suffered the loss, and he stamped out any feeling, whatsoever.

"Alright, not unless absolutely necessary," Hermione said with more conviction that she felt.

Briskly speaking, lest his traitorous heart overcome his mind, he returned to the lesson.

"I want a detailed case study of every Death Eater; everything you know about them, and what is the best way to handle them in battle. Start with Lucius, he is the easiest."

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione started detailing everything she could remember from personal experience and what Snape had taught her.

Snape was relentless; snapping at her mistakes and barely acknowledging her successful ideas. Hermione understood that there was a shortage of time that he wasn't telling her about. Christmas was upon them, and he had already started assigning her work for over the break.

It was going to be a long year ahead.


	22. Darkness Calls

"WHAT have you done?" Snape roared when he walked out of the fireplace in the Granger residence.

"It was a bit of an accident, is all," said the lone occupant of the hall, who was currently enjoying her tea.

Snape was suspicious at how calm she seemed. Perhaps she had taken some calming draught? Or perhaps she had taken some of the muggle medication to calm her down.

He brushed these thoughts aside and strode toward her, towering over her reclining form.

"Where are they?"

"In their room, where I last left them lying on the bed," she sipped her tea.

"Are they in danger?"

She shrugged and placed the cup back on the side table.

"Ms. Granger! Are your parents in any danger? What happened?"

"They were bugging me."

"They were _bugging_ you."

"Yes, stop repeating what I have said. Are you going to help me or not?"

Alarms were going off in his head. Why did she call him? If she didn't call McGonagall, it meant she couldn't explain whatever happened as accidental. She was of age, he recalled.

"Did you curse your parents?" His voice could freeze half the town.

"Why do you think I called you here?"

"You, have just wilfully cursed them, and yet you sit here sipping your tea while they could be dying! Where is the room?"

"They're not dying, I think," she rose to show him the way.

"_You think?_" He poured derision over those words. Snape wanted to scream at her. Parents first, he reminded himself and followed her up the stairs.

They were not dying; he breathed a sigh of relief when the scans turned up normal. But they were not waking up; not with Enervate, not with cold water splashed, not with repeated shaking and shouting.

He cast the basic spell for diagnosis and concentrated on the numbers and levels beside each vital statistic. He drew in a sharp breath.

No wonder he hadn't noticed; the statistics were all _relatively_ alright.

Everything within the Grangers was functioning perfectly.

Just that _Everything_ was _slower_. _Much_ slower.

He turned to look at Hermione, leaning casually against the doorframe, fingering her wand almost carelessly.

Snape stood and turned fully toward her.

Hermione gripped her wand and straightened.

He stepped forward.

Instantly, her wand was poised, steady and threatening, ready to fling a curse at him.

Oh dear Merlin.

Snape hesitated. He knew this was bound to happen. He had neglected this. It was his fault.

Slowly, he raised his wand toward the ceiling and placed it on the bed next to the sleeping Grangers. Her wand lowered but a fraction. She knew after all, that he didn't necessarily need it.

Hands by his sides, he approached her, one step at a time.

"It's alright, Hermione," he assured her, "I won't say a thing to anyone. Let me help you."

She laughed, cold and high, and Snape shuddered.

"Like you would, Snape, traitor that you are."

He flinched, but moved forward. Her wand was now digging into his chest.

"I promised I would never lie to you, Hermione," he murmured, and something in her demeanour softened a bit.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Severus," her hand shook a bit, "but I can't take it anymore."

He shook his head, "I know that you are stronger than that."

"Do you?" she sneered, "you who refuse to so much as touch me these days?"

He winced, this was tricky.

"Whether I touch you or not is disproportional to how much I want to," he had never intended to say these words aloud. It was his perverted secret; he chastised himself every moment for needing her.

She worked it out, and her wand hand lowered. "Is it true?"

"I promised I would never lie to you."

"Then why won't you?" her voice quavered and he knew the first step had been taken.

"You know the reasons. We agreed upon them."

"To hell with it all!" she exploded, and he was half sure he was a dead man.

But then, she crumpled to the floor, her wand clattered and rolled away. Hermione's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and his chest constricted. She was so frail.

He knelt in front of her and engulfed her in his robes. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and drew into the warmth. It was heart-wrenching for him to see her like this.

Snape berated himself for not seeing to this before. He had just assumed she would handle it. She had handled it admirably. Till now.

"_Segne Spiritus_?" he asked her after a while and she nodded, still sobbing.

The Grangers were not harmed. Not that much at least. They would experience fatigue and bouts of nausea for the next two days or so. The body didn't take well to being slowed down and then suddenly returned to normal. It was like applying brakes on a muggle geared vehicle and then speeding up again.

The internals would suffer.

He sighed, and was grateful it was nothing worse. She had started crying afresh, probably realising that she had willingly cursed her own parents. He shushed her and patted her back awkwardly.

Once she was asleep, he picked her up, noticing that she still was too thin and light. Her room was at the other end of the floor. Privacy, he thought, and backed into the room. Then he turned around.

And nearly dropped her.

There were parchments and books strewn everywhere! Her trunk looked like she had haphazardly started packing and throwing things in. She was planning to leave?

Clothes were thrown around, pictures ripped from their places on the shelves. It was clear that it had happened here. Wordlessly, he banished the things on the bed off to the table that was also covered with parchment, spilled ink and broken quills.

He had never imagined that she could be associated with such utter disorder and chaos. It was a treatise to her fragile control.

He could guess what had ensued between them, although he would get the entire story later. Snape laid Hermione down on the bed and left her there.

Now to reverse the spell and carry out damage control.

"_Naturalis Spiritus_" he intoned, and twisted his wand in a complex manner.

At first, nothing happened, and Snape frowned. Almost as soon as he raised his wand to cast it again, Mrs. Granger coughed and Sputtered, rolled to her side and threw up. Mr. Granger followed suit almost immediately.

Moments later, Snape thrust hastily conjured glasses of water into their hands and handed them towels he had summoned. It took them sometime to stop choking on air, and be able to wash out their mouths.

"Drink," he ordered and they followed his orders as if under his control. Confusion can have its advantages. Currently, the Grangers' were having too much blood flowing too fast into their heads. It would cause the nausea and the headache, accompanied by confusion.

Very much like a hangover.

Once they were able to formulate coherent thoughts, they started firing questions at him, starting with "Who the hell are you?"

"Ms. Granger called me to tend to you, Drs. Granger," he informed them. Now for the lie.

"She said you both were experiencing… difficulties after consumption of adulterated food products."

"That doesn't sound right," Mr. Granger frowned, I remember we were arguing with 'Mione when…"

A light dawned in his eyes and he grew angry. "She lied to you then," he hissed and Snape cringed. It didn't work, then. Plan B.

"Stupefy!" he thought, and instantly the good doctors were unconscious. It was distasteful to do this, but it was necessary. Hermione would be heartbroken to meet her parents' anger, and he doubted she could be provoked again without worse consequences than this.

It was a bloody good thing she was of age. This magic would not register as anti-muggle, with her residence registered as that of a qualified magical person.

She'd better appreciate the depth of the situation after all this, he scowled.

Carefully sifting through the memories of Hermione's father, he removed the latter part of the most recent confrontation, and altered it such that it showed her screaming at them to leave her alone and slamming the door in his face.

Then he carefully searched for and located a memory of the two of them taking tea in the kitchen. Weaving the memories together with a whispered spell, he withdrew from his mind.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back. Memory modification was a very strenuous process, not to mention a lengthy one. He didn't have much time to polish the new memories to perfection, so he hoped that the Grangers would attribute it to old age or something else, and not mind the ragged edges.

Finding appropriate memories was not difficult; it was the modification and the weaving that took up the most time and effort. He would have to project one of his thoughts onto the target and use it to weave a memory. It was a complex version of the memory erasing spell. There, one would instruct aloud, the thought you required the target to remember, here, it was literally painting over an existing picture. It could not be undone unless they somehow remembered through another source. In this case, it was nigh impossible.

He was flushed and panting by the time he finished with Mrs. Granger's memory. They were still out from his doing, and he suspected they would be too tired to wake for another hour or two in the least.

"Thank you."

He startled, but calmed down when he felt a familiar pair of arms encircle him from behind. He would not deny her this simple pleasure. Not tonight at least.

"Tea," he rasped out, and turned in her embrace. For now he let her support him, and draw support from him. He was too tired to war with himself on this.

Many cups of tea and a pepper-up potion later, they went to tidy up her room. Red faced, Hermione explained that cleaning up had not exactly been on top of the list.

Snape only smirked and said nothing. Between them, the room was set to rights in only minutes.

He apparated with Mr. Granger in tow, and she took care of her mother. Once they had set up the "tea-party" that Hermione had nicknamed the scene, She put on her coat and thick boots, and left the house.

Snape disillusioned himself, and positioned himself outside the kitchen window. Once he was assured of a quick exit, he enervated them, and left them to handle themselves. It was comical, really, the way they blinked owlishly at each other and the half drunk cups of tea in front of them.

Shaking his head at the elaborate cover-up plan that was the result of one tiny moment, Snape walked to the park nearby, where she would undoubtedly be brewing over the day's events.


	23. Cruelty

"I'm sorry I lost control."

He didn't say anything, just watched her as she rested against the base of the tree, watching the clouds turn crimson to purple in the sunset.

"I was just so very tired."

He only leaned against the bench next to the tree, facing her, not even indicating that he heard her.

Hermione spoke, soft and slow; "I was studying and completing the assignments for over break, and they wouldn't leave me be."

She turned her head to look at him, cheek on her knees. He only inclined his head, yet no words were forthcoming. Hermione desperately needed him to scream at her, to berate her, or kiss her, she wasn't sure which.

"They've been reading the papers, the prophet, especially. They are learning the Ministry's version of this ongoing war," a sigh escaped her lips and fogged in front of her face. It was nearly Christmas, after all. Although, Snape observed, it was not to be a white Christmas in this part of England.

"They know that Harry has to defeat him; worked it out that I am in the middle of the great big mess. Those idiots have run sections for the Department of Mysteries skirmish as well. "

Ah, so she had not told them about that.

"They were all the more angry that I had started to hide things from them, especially ones where I could have been otherwise maimed or killed," she snorted, "I know that now, but at that time, it was only keeping Harry in one piece.

"They are not happy that I keep things from them, keep to myself these days. Were trying to pull rank on me for keeping me 'safe'," she spat out the word as if it were an insult.

"I know you would agree with them Severus, but they are no safer than I am."

"Hermione," he whispered, shaking his head, "you cannot blame them for trying to protect you."

"I know," she replied, "but they won't understand. Not like you do."

"I am hardly an authority on parental advice."

Here she laughed, and Snape gave a crooked half-smile in return.

"Anyway, so I sort of lost it, and there you have the story."

"Not fully. Why did you choose that particular spell?"

She shrugged. "I was angry, It made sense to slow them down at the time. Only I had no idea I was using dark magic. Severus, I lost control."

"What do you remember?"

"That I cursed them, called you, and then I fell asleep in your arms," she paused, "again. God I swoon like a Victorian maiden."

Snape raised his eyebrow and smirked. She coloured.

"They won't remember will they?"

He sensed the fear and hope in her voice. How easy it would be to crush her now. Snape was startled to think such thoughts.

"No, all they will remember is a typical teenage tantrum."

"The cause?"

"Not immediately, but since they had too many memories of newspaper articles, it was nigh impossible to mask all of them without causing gaps."

"But it is not impossible?"

Snape eyed her suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"I won't lie to you, I was considering looking up memory charms and then ask you. Since you already know the charms, it saves me the research."

"And what makes you think I'll teach you such a delicate and dangerous skill?" He straightened and scowled.

She shrugged, "I was going to ask. I was almost certain you knew, before this anyway. Now I'm hoping you will teach me."

"No."

She sighed and shook her head, "why not?"

"I wouldn't want to be responsible for spotty and mangled memories the next time I step through that fireplace, which I am sincerely hoping will never happen."

"Not even to see me?"

"I..." he stopped, "I cannot discuss that with you without telling you too much."

"What is so grave that you cannot share with me?"

"There are many things Ms. Granger," he sneered, "that you know nothing of."

"True."

"Why do you want to learn?"

"I was thinking of maybe altering their memories and send them away into hiding."

"What?" He snarled, "you want to meddle with their memories after this? Their bodies not enough for you?"

She froze and he wanted to slap himself. "Hermione I..."

"You meant it, Severus, and I deserved that, but hear me out before you judge me yet."

He inclined his head and watched her carefully, in case she was going to break into another one.

"Vol- You-Know-Who," she amended at his glare, "knows that Harry will do anything for the people he loves. He also knows Harry is reckless and downright stupid when he gets the saviour complex. Easy bait, he is.

"I'm sure you know he's considered using us to draw him out," she watched his reaction from beneath lowered lashes, "Muggles are really easy to fool."

"Surely you realise the order has thought of this?"

"And yet, here you are," she flung back at him and he had to concede her point.

"Get on with it," he snapped, "there are wards around the office and House."

"That's only two places, and it's easy for muggles to fool wizards with their modern technology. It's not like Tonks or even Shacklebolt or even you would be very comfortable with say," she paused, "using the Tube. A few seconds delay and they are gone.

"All it takes is the right bit of acting and a telephone, throw in some polyjuice, and you have a daughter in distress. Lo behold, missing muggle parents, ammunition for the Dark Lord."

She was right, he supposed, so, "You intend to send them away, presumably out of the continent where your worries will lessen. How do you intend to make them not worry and return for you?"

"They won't have to return if they have nothing to return for."

Snape nearly gasped.

"You intend to make them forget that they ever had a daughter!"

"Precisely."

"I have to ask you if you are insane, are you?"

"No, Severus," she said in exasperation, "it makes sense, and you know it!"

"It makes sense but it is cruel, not to mention illegal!"

"Cruel that I want to protect them, as they me?"

"Cruel that you want to take a very large part of their lives away! Have you thought of how they will react if they ever discover what you have done? When you carry out this grand plan of yours," he glared, "and then come back later to retrieve them from wherever they are, do you think they will just welcome you with open arms? They may very well hate you!"

"I know."

His mouth snapped shut. "Idiot girl!" he snarled and started to pace.

"Have you no qualms about this?" he seethed, "these are your parents!"

"I KNOW!" she screamed, and her voice echoed in the empty park. It was dark, but the moon flittered in and out.

He could see that she was crying, and hear her sobs. He just couldn't understand how the slip of a girl he knew could curse her own parents in a fit, and then casually suggest that Snape help her change their lives. What had he done to her?

He sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands, "No Hermione, I cannot. I have destroyed you enough. Do not ask me to destroy your family's lives as well."

"I'm not asking you to help me destroy it, or destroy it yourself," she got up, only to sit beside him and nudge his arm away, "I'm asking you to help me protect them in the best way I can think of."

He didn't look at her, but drew his hand away from her own.

"Please," she whispered, "you don't even have to know when I do it. Just teach me."

"And then what?" he snarled, got up and stormed away from the bench to stand a few metres away; "the knowledge that you will do, irrespective of the day or time will haunt me! One more rip in my soul," he deflated a little, "doesn't it matter anymore, what I think?"

Hermione was ashamed of herself. She didn't think of it that way; it sounded incredibly selfish of her, and it was. She didn't know what to say. All that had been on her mind was how she could save her parents.

It didn't occur to her that she wasn't thinking of how she could save him.

"I'm sorry, Severus."

"So am I, Hermione."

"You don't have to teach me, I'll find another method to send them away."

"Short of feeding them the Draught of the Living Death and hiding them away in a cave till you return, IF," he glared pointedly, "you return."

She flinched. He was right. What was she going to do?

"I will think about it and discuss it with the headmaster," Snape ran a tired hand through his hair, "till then, promise me you will not meddle anymore in this."

She said nothing.

"Promise me!" he hissed and stalked back to where she was, "I will make you take an unbreakable vow, so help me!"

"Alright," she muttered, not entirely placated, "I promise not to meddle with my parent's lives or memories till then."

"Very Good, Ms. Granger."

"So what do we do now?"

"We," he stressed on the word, "will do nothing. You will go back to your home, apologise, and be a good daughter as far as you can. I will return to Hogwarts and discuss your brilliant plan with the headmaster when he is able."

"Is he still sick?"

"He will be, till he dies, Ms. Granger," he sighed, "you have analysed it, I suppose."

"Nearly," she admitted, "he is dying, isn't he?"

Snape looked at her sharply, "how did you come to that conclusion?"

"Honestly! You taught me to recognise effects of dark curses! Isn't it obvious? His hand is nearly dead and withered like a wet branch in fire, and his face is lined and tired."

"And he's absent from the head table almost as much as you these days," she continued, "Only, I haven't figured out how he got cursed in the first place."

"Yes," he admitted after a while of silence, "he is dying, but it is not to be discussed with anyone else but myself and the headmaster."

"Alright," she nodded, "can you tell me what happened?"

"Not presently, Ms. Granger; that," he was slightly miffed, "will be told to you in due time."

"Now you just sound like Dumbledore."

"Ms. Granger," he said with bite, "Dumbledore is sometimes right."

They glared at each other. She dropped her eyes after a while. "Thank you," she looked back at him, "I will work better on control."

"If you ever feel like you are losing control," he looked at her, "fire-call me, Ms. Granger, or if I am unavailable," he thought for a moment, "get away from whatever is causing you distress. Occupy your mind with other things."

"Music, physical exercise," he continued, "something that will shift your focus."

"Hmm," she fiddled with a strand of hair, "and if it still doesn't help?"

He stared at her and wondered if he should tell her the truth.

"Pain," he supplied and she gasped, watching the blood well and flow from his now-open palm.

"Pain takes the edge away from the lure," he said with no emotion.

"Come, we must get back," the cut healed itself and she traced it lightly with a finger.

They didn't speak a word on the way back. Snape watched her enter the house under the cover of night. She glanced in his direction as she shut the door, and smiled.

He clenched his fist, heedless of the newly mended skin.


	24. Falling without grace

_A/N: Sorry for the late and rather short update. I've just had no time (nor visions) for chapters_

* * *

Hermione breathed in short gasps, trying not to make a sound. It was dark, but there was enough light creeping through the thick foliage to let her see with a little difficulty.

"Coloravi Nigrans," she pointed to her clothes and made a small swishing motion, careful not to rustle any leaves.

Shields up, she thought and moved her head around the tree slowly. And wished she hadn't.

A piece of bark cut into her cheek, flying off the tree near her left ear.

Biting down on the pain, Hermione cursed mentally and fled, her charmed shoes making very faint crunching noises. She willed the cut to heal, although with partial concentration, it only stopped bleeding. The knitting would have to be redone correctly later on.

She was pretty sure a lot of parts of her would have to be re-attached after this.

"What are my strengths?" she thought to herself, hiding behind a large tree some distance to the right of the previous one. She had weaved and twisted the path for nearly fifteen seconds, so she must be at least eighty paces away.

She was small, and lithe. She was good at spells, but obviously sucked at stealth. Hmm.

The seconds ticked by, and her breathing became nearly quiet. She strained her ears and knew her attacker was approaching, although relatively slowly, trying to figure out where she was.

The tree.

There were vines surrounding her, wispy leaves drooping off in the dying light. Hermione pointed her wand at the vines for a bit, anxiety growing with each passing minute. If she was captured now...

No, she thought to herself, and finished the task at hand. Then she crept away to the next tree and climbed the solid trunk, wincing as the splinters lodged themselves into the soft flesh of her hands. Good thing she had the sense to wear full sleeved shirts these days.

Her now slightly muscular arms and toned forearms were hard to explain, unless it was "I'm weightlifting books."

Which was partially true; She had so many books in her bag these days.

There! She saw the pursuer, creeping along toward where she had been hiding.

"Expelliarmus!" she breathed, triumphant that she had the upper hand.

Hermione screamed as she fell from the tree, only to hover near the ground for a second before falling with a soft "Oomph!" Her wand was snatched from her hand with a solid slap and she whimpered.

Soon enough, a pair of black boots appeared in her vision and she was half afraid he was going to kick her in the face.

"Get up, you stupid Girl!"

Ouch, Hermione winced at the harsh snarl and got to her feet, gingerly brushing herself off.

"Now if that was for real, you'd be dead or worse, captured for games!" Snape nearly screamed at her.

"Why didn't your wand fly to me?"

"Because I didn't let it, obviously!"

"What do you mean 'because you didn't let it?'" she snapped into his face, not caring if he was going to slap her. She had lost, yet again, and it was not leaving her happy with time.

He did have a whole load of experience over her, she whined mentally.

"The wand can be controlled, otherwise," his face contorted into a sneer, "you'd have easily defeated the weaker ones at the ministry."

Oh. Ah, well.

Hermione looked at his feet, petulantly. It was stupid, she knew, but what the hell could she do?

"Although the fake hair was an adequate measure to handle the ones with lesser intelligence," he said in a tightly controlled voice.

Hermione's small victory was lost among the guilt. He was actually complimenting her because she was being childish. It was a gesture that made her feel twice as bad.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "what did I do wrong?"

"You clearly haven't got the shade of your hair right in your mind. Not to mention, if it was attached to your skull, there must be some sort of movement over a reasonable amount of time."

She smacked her forehead and winced when she met some tender flesh from one of her many falls.

He noticed, she supposed, because the next thing he did was light his wand and bring her face up for examination. It wasn't pretty she knew, and she hoped there were no scars. It wasn't out of vanity, just that those were harder to cover up and/or explain.

"Infirmary," he bit out, gently pushing her toward the fireplace that had appeared.

"Not bad, but you need to pay attention to detail," was the last thing he said before he shoved her through the Floo into Pomfrey's office.

The matron tutted and clucked and muttered about stubborn children and insufferable men, all the while fixing her up efficiently. She tried not to wince as the cuts healed and her hair was cut short till the singed ends were removed. It was not so much that the boys would notice.

"Not that Won-Won would notice anyway," she thought with a sneer.

Which brought her to thoughts on Ron. Her gift for his birthday was going to have to be returned or exchanged. She was not going to be nice to him when he was being such an outright arse.

Ugh! It was disgusting, the way they were trying to meld into one another at every given opportunity. It had moved beyond disgusting, frankly.

Apparently both Lav-Lav and Won-Won, not to mention most of the people had taken her stress, snappishness and looks of disgust as signs of jealousy.

Well, there was that little incident with the birds, but she had been utterly pissed with Severus and Ron was just there. It wasn't his fault really. She was faintly nauseated the way she had found them snogging, but the real reason was that she was irritated, and she missed Severus.

He had been away so often, and he was increasingly agitated; his training sessions were closer to brutal, and he refused to touch her.

Hermione had tried to reach out to him, and had been rebuffed every time. He would just close up when she asked what was wrong.

She ran a finger along her jaw, remembering his touch, and sighed. It was the most he had touched her since the holidays.

Madam Pomfrey took her sigh for fatigue and frog marched her to the Floo. Severus had (with much shouting and snapping) told the medi-witch that Hermione couldn't stay the night. It was just too suspicious.

Besides, she had homework to do.

Hermione entered the Common Room and swept tiredly past the Snoggin' Noggins and went up to her bed.

She was cranky, and tired; Ron could be a prat all he wanted. She needed sleep.

Hermione was asleep almost as soon as head hit the pillow. Vaguely she wondered if Pomfrey had drugged her among all the potions she had shoved down her throat.

Yes, she had. The Witch.


	25. Murder, murder, he cried

_A/N: Sorry this was posted later than expected, and in the unexpected place. I started something and ended up writing this scene. It fit the missing link between chapters 24 and 25. Forgive any blasphemies _:)

* * *

She only wished the world would stop spinning so fast. Maybe then she'd find the will to get up off of the floor.

Or that's where she hoped she was lying. Yes, something was poking her in the back, and there was something heavy across her legs.

Her ears were still ringing.

Hermione coughed out the dust that seemed to fill her throat and nose. It was distasteful.

Experimentally she wiggled her fingers and toes, tried to move her arms and neck. Nothing hurt too much, so it was safe to assume nothing was broken.

She slowly opened her eyes. Vision, check.

Although she did have a splitting headache, and she was pretty sure her forehead was bleeding.

It was nearly reminiscent of the Department of Mysteries fiasco. Hermione shuddered. Best not to go there.

Footsteps. Hermione sprung to her feet, ignoring the headache and slight dizziness. The scones were out, or destroyed, whatever the case, and the darkness gave her good cover. For now, anyway.

Slinking into the nearest undamaged alcove, she cast concealment charms on herself, and controlled her breathing, that seemed loud to her ears in the eerily quiet corridor.

Two people, judging by the footsteps, and they were too light to be full grown men, but she wasn't taking any chances. There were Death Eaters in training at Hogwarts anyway. Hermione thought of Draco darkly.

"I swear, she was here!" a worried female voice floated over her thoughts. She shook herself back to the present. Ginny.

"You don't think, she was," a pause, "taken, do you?"

Siblings Weasley.

Wordlessly, she cast a large containment barrier around the two people. It was being paranoid, true, but they just had the castle attacked by death eaters; she was allowed to be paranoid.

"What the hell?" she heard Ronald (or whoever it was) yell, being thrown back from the barrier wall, "we've walked into some trap!"

Both contained people drew their wands and stood with backs to each other. She had played long enough.

"Who are you?" she called from her hiding place, surprised at how hoarse she sounded. Ah, yes, the strangulation hex the big blonde bloke had thrown at her. She massaged her throat gingerly.

"Bloody clearly students," Ginny remained quiet, probably working out how to get out.

"Tell me, _Weasley,_" her voice dripped sarcasm, "how do I believe you are who you seem to be?"

"For me to know, and you to find out," he replied mutinously.

"My, my," she chuckled and winced at the scratchy sound, "not very co-operative, are you?"

"Bollocks! This from someone who hides in the dark. Afraid you might lose to us _children_, you filthy coward?"

Point to Ronald, she thought, trying to flush the game, eh? By now, she was mostly sure there were no more following. A wordless revealing charm had turned up nothing. Ah well, there was little else she could do.

Keeping her back to the wall and shield glowing in front of her, she stepped forward, till the dim moonlight from a shattered window illuminated her just enough to be recognisable.

Ginny spotted her first. "Hermione!"

"The barrier allows for no spells to be fired, I wouldn't advise testing that theory, if I were you," she said coldly.

"Hermione! It's us!" Ginny pleaded, looking to Ron for help, "Do something Ron!"

"I repeat," Hermione said slowly, "how do I know you are who you seem to be?"

With narrowed eyes, Ron watched her, probably thinking of some way to identify himself, and her at the same time. "Don't you remember all the times we spent with Hagrid's brother?"

Ginny looked suitably puzzled.

"I would remember better if you told me what Gwarp tried to do when we met him."

"Make you his girlfriend," Ron smiled, and Hermione let the barrier down, wincing as she was nearly crushed in his arms soon after.

"Let her go, she's hurt, Ron!"

Hermione smiled at Ginny and Ron looked sheepish. "Sorry 'Mione," he gave her a relieved grin, "I'd started to fear the worst when you didn't turn up at the Great Hall. Our _luck_ did run out at the end."

"It did," she gestured at herself, and Ron's face grew concerned at her injuries.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, and the siblings exchanged glances.

"He ran behind the Death Eaters screaming like a madman," Ron answered her.

Wordlessly, they ran as fast as they could to the entrance hall, where people were moving outside.

One of the students told them there was a commotion at the base of the Astronomy tower, and that someone had been killed.

"What?" Hermione suddenly was afraid. She had barely seen Severus, and he had spared her a look that spoke volumes, while he ran alongside Draco. Had something happened to him?

The thought spurred her forward and she ran all the way to where the crowd had gathered. People were openly crying, but apart from the sobs and the sniffles, it was too quiet.

She felt momentary relief, sure that students would hardly cry their heart out for Severus; well, apart from her, at least. But then dread came to claim her heart. It had to be someone well loved or respected. Hagrid? Or one of the other professors?

Ron was already pushing his way through the crowd, Ginny at his heels. Hermione followed them, not caring to excuse her behaviour. With each step, the sorrow seemed more profound, and unwittingly, more names came to her mind. Remus? McGonagall?

No. Her heart thudded to a halt. It couldn't be!

Ginny went forward, to comfort Harry, who was kneeling beside the body, no, not body, person. Hermione's knees buckled under her, and she collapsed to the grass. Ron was by her side in an instant, holding her, while she cried silently.

She couldn't believe it. He was gone. The greatest wizard in the world was dead. She knew he had been with Harry, and Harry had gone charging from the top of the astronomy tower, but she never saw Dumbledore leave.

Dumbledore just lay there, a look of intense relief frozen on his face, and she knew that he had fallen from the tower. But there was no evidence that the fall had killed him. It looked as if he had just decided to lay there for a nap because the grass was softer and thicker.

Which meant that he had died before he fell.

Hermione's mind reeled through images of the Death Eaters leaving the tower, Severus running with Draco, and that look he had given her suddenly made sense.

Intense regret, self-loathing and hatred.

If she wasn't already sitting down, her knees would have given way again. Severus. No.

Her mind was numb, and so were her limbs. She didn't realise it when Ron gathered her up and made way for the body. No, the person.

Dumbledore. Dead.

And Snape had killed him.


	26. Chapter 25

Green Light.

Six.

Green Light.

Seven.

It got easier by the attempt.

"Is this how it felt, Snape?" She snarled out loud, "Vengeance? For all the times he used you?"

Not for the first time that night, she screamed "Avada Kedavra!" and watched the light leave the eyes of another hapless creature.

If the wards were down at because of One of the casters' death, the ministry should have been here by now.

Too late, as always.

The whispering was getting louder with each curse she cast. Carcasses lay in a pile, growing every few minutes.

Hermione thought about Snape, and then killed.

She knew it was going to be ten times as hard to face it tomorrow, but it didn't bother her. She felt that perhaps if she tried hard enough, she could mask one sorrow with another.

"I trusted you," she whispered, "I loved you, and trusted you."

"I was hoping that was true."

Hermione spun around so quickly that it was only a year of training that kept her steady, a curse waiting on her lips.

"You have all the nerve to show up here, you bastard. Come to kill me as well, have you?"

Snape flinched as if slapped, and Hermione felt a small triumph.

"No, Hermione, I'm here to give you answers. I know you have many questions."

"And what makes you so sure I would not kill you after you have answered them?"

"I'm not," he said softly, and Hermione had to fight the urge to let down her wand. This was Dumbledore's murderer. He had fooled everyone for far too long.

"I only hope that you won't kill me. Or perhaps I do," Snape still hadn't drawn his wand, not that he needed it very much, "I have little left, but hope."

"You deserve no mercy! How could you? He was like a father to you!"

"Don't you think it kills me inside that I had to do it?"

"You wanted to... " she whispered, and let her wand down. She was too tired to fight. If he wanted to kill her, she couldn't care less at this moment.

"Hermione..." he sounded closer, and she raised teary eyes to him.

"I loved you, and trusted you," she said, her voice nearly failing her, "and this is how you return it? I wanted to carve my heart out with how much it hurt. I nearly did."

"I'm tired, Snape," she spoke wearily, "of this whole bloody mess. It is taking everything out of me. And you..."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, "were all that was keeping me sane. I'm not sure anymore."

"I know," he approached her, slowly.

"Why?" She beat his chest and pushed at him, she couldn't give in to this cold blooded murderer.

"Because I had to," he held her arms and let her scratch at whatever skin she could reach. This small pain was enough to take the edge off of the infinite guilt and despair that was threatening to take over him.

Soon, she slowed her arms and fell limply into his. He held her there, precious and fragile, hoping he wouldn't break her.

"He made me do it," he whispered into her hair, and she stiffened. He stopped her from pulling away.

"Please, hear me out," he said, and held her tightly. For a moment it seemed she was going to break away, but she stilled and spoke into his chest.

"Be warned that I will not believe a word you say."

"I'm glad you are cautious," he inhaled her scent, "But I promised you once that I will never lie to you, and I won't start now."

"And you are so big on your promises," she scoffed, and pushed him away. He didn't stop her this time.

"I will never lie to you."

"Whatever," she pointed her wand at him and smiled coldly, "I'm going to kill you now, Snape. I deserve this for my foolishness."

"It would undo years of planning by Albus," he spoke tiredly, "but do as you wish. I cannot seem to care anymore. I will be dead sooner, or later, and I would prefer it at your hand. It would serve as my final punishment."

Snape ran a tired hand over his face, "I killed for him, now I will die for him."

"Don't you dare talk about Dumbledore! You don't deserve to speak about him!"

"I do not deserve a great many things," he snarled at her, "and I have given far too much for the sake of his grand scheme. I have paid my debt ten times over and yet I am bound. I, for one, would be happy to roll over and die with what little dignity I have left!"

"Liar!" she screamed and Snape winced as a deep gash opened up on his arm.

"I am many things," Snape gasped, "but I am no liar to you."

Hermione laughed then, and Snape fell to the ground, writhing in pain. She had grown better at this, he thought, and then screamed as more gashes opened up on his arms and chest and legs.

"Please," he gasped and begged, while she stood over him, dispassionately torturing him.

"Was that how Dumbledore begged Snape? Did he beg you? Was it good to sneer at him and kill him? Helpless and unarmed and in a great deal of pain? Did it soothe your ego to have the greatest wizard on Earth beg for mercy?"

"No," he gasped, as she let him free of the curse. He still bled.

"No?" she seemed amused, "Harry said he had begged you, you son of a bitch, and you paid no mercy. Why should I?"

"You shouldn't," he rasped out, "I deserve no mercy."

Their eyes met, and he held her glare with one of his own.

"See for yourself," he breathed out and pushed all the memories to the forefront. Hermione seemed shocked for a moment, but then the glint returned, and she was no gentler than the Dark Lord himself. She ripped and clawed through them, searching for what she wanted, like an angry tigress with her prey.

Snape screamed, but Hermione didn't hear him. She was too engrossed in seeing what he had to offer, testing the threads for weaving, examining each one till she was satisfied of its authenticity.

Snape couldn't tolerate the pain anymore; he gave in to blessed oblivion.


	27. Truth and Consequences

He was sore, and tired, as if he had lost a lot of blood.

"I could have killed you," Hermione spoke from somewhere beside him. He couldn't be persuaded to open his eyes yet.

"I know," he rasped out, and touched his throat. Snape winced; the skin was still tender where she had used him like a scratching post. Overall, he was rather surprised to still be alive after the hatred he had seen in her.

"You are expecting me to trust you, again."

"I expect nothing," his throat had gone hoarse, probably from all the screaming.

"Here, drink this," the cool glass of a vial touched his lips, and a hand gently lifted his head. Blood Replenishing, he thought, and drank.

"Water," he choked out. The potion was always vile tasting.

A chink of glass against glass and another vial was pressed to his lips, "first this," she said and helped the pain reliever into his mouth.

"Thank you," he said, and opened his eyes to meet her brown ones.

"Don't speak too soon. I could have just poisoned you."

He shrugged, "either way would have been alright by my reckoning."

An expression of pain crossed her face, and he was sure she had learned the truth. It relieved him somewhat that his burden was shared, and pained him that it was she who had to share the burden. Hermione had far too much on her plate to start with.

"You're still a bastard."

"I have never claimed otherwise, although only figuratively."

She laughed, "Nearly dead and still you attempt morbid humour."

He tried to smile, but the cut on his cheek turned it into a grimace.

"Careful," she soothed, "it will take a few hours to heal."

He raised his eyebrow, "Stealing from the infirmary?"

Hermione coloured, "From your personal stores, if you must know," she snapped at him.

"Ah, the good stuff," he closed his eyes again. "How long?"

"Nearly an hour," she whispered, and then Snape felt the rustle of robes. He felt a pang; it was only time before she left anyway.

"I'm not leaving you, just yet," he could sense the amusement in her voice, and a moment later, she lay down beside him, and gently placed an arm on his stomach. After a bit of adjusting, her head rested on his shoulder, while he circled his arm around her waist.

"How I have dreamed of this moment," he murmured into her hair, and kissed the top of her head.

"Me torturing you mercilessly?" her voice held no emotion.

"It was what you needed," there was no blame in his tone.

"What about what you need?"

"I needed you to understand, and this," he gestured with his free hand, "proves that you do."

"The end justifies the means, is that it?"

"Most of the times, they do," he drew her in a little more.

"Strange, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"I've missed this," she patted his chest, "But I'm not sure if I'm a fool to believe you now."

"I promised..."

"I know," she kissed his shoulder, "but you can't blame me for thinking it."

He sighed, and his breath ruffled her hair, sending shivers down her back.

"Won't anyone be looking for you?" he said after a while; the last thing he needed was to have Hagrid swooping in here.

"Everyone is still too shocked," and the term ended days ago.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before," he didn't sound sorry in the least bit.

"Right," she huffed out. "Everyone thinks I'm at my parents'."

"What?" he could have cut stone, "you are here on your own? What if I was really here to harm you?"

"You wouldn't risk it," she muttered.

"Risk what? Running into Hagrid? Or you? I can still beat you well enough."

"Maybe," she said petulantly.

"You were hoping I'd turn up? Foolish child! You are no match for a death eater like me!"

"I wanted closure."

"Closure." His tone could burn wet grass.

"And if," he continued over the silence, "I decided to bring in more friends?"

She shrugged, "aim, fire, run."

"Idiot child," she was insufferable, "just like Potter."

"Harry would have killed you first and asked questions later."

"True. But it was incredibly stupid of you."

"I get it," she snarled, "but it did end this way, didn't it?"

"Touché."

They lay there for a while, and then she took a deep breath.

"Start from the beginning," she instructed sternly, "and try not to leave anything out."

"As you wish," he said, and the added, "It will take a while, will they not look for you?"

"I'll just tell them I needed to visit my friends, which is," she looked up at him, "the truth."

He smirked down at her, and winced. "We'd better get something more comfortable," and before she could react, they were lying on a soft couch, which supported Snape's head and shoulders partially upright.

"Better," she mumbled and snuggled into his side.

"Well, I think it would be prudent to start with reactions to your unprecedented suicide mission to the Ministry."

"Err... I won't enjoy this particularly, will I?"

He shook his head then spoke, "Minerva was most angry, Albus," he swallowed, "was less so."

"It was initially my suggestion that we teach the Order Members to work with the Dark Arts, particularly the younger ones and the stronger ones. Moody was a given of course, the man had no qualms about using underhanded approaches. But the other Order members are either not mentally strong enough or too stubborn to think in such terms."

"What about Lupin?" She asked.

"He wouldn't last, not with the wolf in him. One misstep and we'd lose him to Fenrir's lot."

He felt her shudder, but ploughed on, "It takes a great deal of strength and courage to dabble in the dark arts and not be drawn in," he felt her nod against his chest, "the members were rather thick about, which was expected. I wanted to let the issue go, and look for alternatives."

"But why then? Why not after all the times we have gone barging in on trouble?"

"Well, till then, the issue was not solid. Granted, there were quite goings-on in the Order, people were preparing for the inevitable, but Potter had to go and follow no other schedule but his own," he sneered and Hermione smiled. Some things never changed.

"I had been advising Albus to similar means before. With the Dark mark, we know when the Dark Lord is getting stronger or around; which was why I was onto Quirell like a hound. Albus, as you know, is very hard to force into a course of action."

"That's probably true."

"Believe me, it's worse than trying to get Lockhardt to admit he's an idiot."

"Erm."

"Precisely, well, that aside, we had to plan a way to keep you all in one piece if you were going to go waltzing with wolves. I was very much against the idea, and in the end, I came to think it was pure idiocy on my part to not have expected the results of that particular conversation.

"Albus made it sound so necessary, that I had to agree to it. Like others are not aware of your special training with me, you were not aware of Ronald Weasley training with Minerva and Albus, and occasionally with me.

Snape heard a soft "Oh!" and knew the wheels were turning to fit the pieces.

"Yes, well, the youngest Weasley boy was apparently good at _something_."

She snorted. He knew what was going on between the two. He also knew that soon she would be forced to make yet another sacrifice. That part could wait.

"So we put the boy to tasks where he could learn how to put his thoughts into words, not an easy feat, I tell you, he hasn't many thoughts." Snape smirked at her muffled laughter. No doubt Ronald-Bashing was a good pastime, but no need to overdo it.

"His natural talent, much as it pains me to say it; Minerva was quite pleased with his progress." Snape paused, "the real challenge is now to keep all of you alive throughout the little side trip you plan to make soon."

"How did you know about that?" She started.

"I didn't, well, at least I wasn't sure," he smirked at her scowl, "I suspected that you would choose that way, although."

"Are you going to stop me?"

"No, on the contrary, I will try to help you."

"That's surprising. No comments on vaunted Gryffindor hotheadedness?"

"I could grace you with some, if you'd like."

"Never mind," she mumbled, "continue, please."

"The boy has no doubt used my own techniques against my team in Quidditch; I could not help but notice. Worked quite well, didn't it?"

The question was rhetorical, of course. They both knew the answer to that.

"So once Potter and his merry band of troublemakers," she slapped him on the chest lightly, "took the whole game to the next level when you took on the inner circle at the Ministry. It was time to make a change. Therein comes your part in the war."

"Now, based on the memories you have seen, you know the plan, do you not?"

"As much as I saw, yes. You saved Draco's soul, and secured your position as Voldemort's most faithful," he nodded, "Lucius is out of the way, and Bellatrix is incensed that you would take her place."

"Correct. Now you have to find the horcruxes and destroy them; that is where my help comes in. When the time is right, providing I'm still alive, I will provide you the means to find and/or destroy them. But, your part is to play along. Pretend you have no knowledge of anything. Hints must be provided discreetly.

"When you go to Grimauld place, you will take the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black; he has a portrait in the Headmaster's office, so we can communicate."

"But the portraits... Oh! You will replace Dumbledore!"

"Indeed. I have expressed it as my wish to the Dark Lord, as reward for a job well done."

She flinched at his tone, "Alright then, communication means are established."

"You know all the protective measures and spells we have discussed. Use them well. But be careful."

"Of course. When will I see you again?"

"When I can get away, which will not be often. As high ranking Death Eater, I will be recognised everywhere. It will be very difficult to go unnoticed for any period of time."

"Ok, what else must I know?"

"That you should stay away from the Ministry at all times, and be prepared to leave any spot at the shortest notice, or none at all. I will carry a copy of the golden galleon when I can, and warn you as soon as I can."

"Attacks will become more frequent and intense I suppose."

"Correct. I will be required less in the actual attacks, as Headmaster duties will take up most of my time."

"What about the current staff?"

"They will be requested to continue."

"But... after what happened..."

"I will need them there, at my own risk albeit, because if they leave, the students will have no one to protect them. I cannot do so overtly."

Hermione nodded, and then remembered, "Watch out for the D. A., they will be baying for blood, and Harry taught them well."

"Thank you. If we meet again, which I doubt very much, how will you identify me?"

Hermione thought for a while, and then asked, "How about the details regarding what techniques I used in the last training session we had?"

Snape hummed and thought it over for a bit, then nodded. "That will do."

Hermione rose to leave, and Snape stopped her. He drew her back to the couch, and brought her to stand between his knees. Hermione didn't resist, and he rested his cheek against her stomach. Hermione wrapped her hands around his head and shoulders, and brought her cheek to rest on his hair. That familiar scent of him relaxed her, and she felt safe.

They stayed that way for a while, and Hermione raised his head to kiss him goodbye. How she had missed his lips, and his tender touch.

She kissed him with passion, and he matched her to every moment. They kissed like this was the last moment they would ever see each other this way.

Severus had a lurking feeling that it could very well be true.

When they drew apart, they rested their foreheads together; Severus didn't want her to leave, but he knew this was inevitable.

"Hermione," he choked out, "if I don't survive this," he spoke over her angry retort, "I want you to find yourself a new life without me. Please. The Weasley boy loves you, as you know. If he manages to get his head out of his arse, you would do well to try and work things out with him. I will never be free, and I don't want to bind you to a life of running and looking over shoulders."

"You better try to survive this war, Severus Snape, or help me God I will make you pay!"

Snape laughed then, a rich throaty laugh, "Hermione Jean Granger, I promise to do my very best."

"Good," she said firmly, and then her eyes welled up, "I can't think of losing you, Severus. It nearly killed me the first time."

"You have no idea," he murmured and kissed her softly, "Now go, they will worry."

"Good bye, Severus."

"Good bye, and remember what I said."

"I will."

And with one last look at him, she was gone.

Severus slumped on the couch, and sighed. Damn traitorous heart.


	28. Scheming

**A/N: I know the new chapter link goes here, please go back to twenty four point five, of course, between 24 and 25. Sorry for the inconvenience. I hope the new one is worth your trouble :)The posted chapter fits there.**

* * *

It was done.

The equation had balanced, and led to a very interesting conclusion. Not to mention it was now in powder form.

It looked almost exactly like salt.

With a little more dilution, the slightly dirty tinge it had could be reduced to almost nothing.

The elves would not notice the difference, if the task was completed correctly.

Surprisingly, it was formula 15 that worked out to the best purpose. 14, although effective, had consequences which served just fine, when an immediate result was required. After many trials, Severus had given up on the formula as a standard poison.

15, on the other hand…

A grim smile spread over Severus' face as he held up the sample to the light. It tasted a little tangy, but that he could work out as the effects of the powdered uric acid or bat guano which he had used to stabilise it with.

Not that Severus was eager to keep using himself as the test subject in this case.

It was a given that his body was mildly poisoned already, but given enough time, he would be able to concoct the antidote, to be taken regularly, if he didn't wish to die a slow, sure death.

Hermione was brilliant, he concluded. Her formulas were based on muggle thinking, which made them rather unique. No one would be looking for physical signs among the Death Eaters. It was their folly, and the Order's luck that magical maladies were more concentrated on.

The observatory that the Headmaster's office was equipped with served well for a laboratory. It was, of course, too bright for his personal tastes; there was nothing to it.

And it was warded so heavily, Severus pitied the person who tried to enter without being invited. His own wards could be called mild compared to the horrors that past headmasters had put in.

It was a very good thing that successors were automatically keyed it. He didn't want to think what would have happened if he had tried otherwise.

Concentrating on the parchment in front of him, Severus carefully made the annotations, and corrections for this version. It was the labour of many weeks. His gracious Lord had allowed him to move into the Headmaster's quarters early, so as to acclimate himself with his new position, as headmaster of one of the première Magical Institutions in the World.

An honour indeed.

He didn't dwell on the memories of Minerva's reactions when he had shown up at the school, demanded entry along with his "cronies" and waved the scroll signed by all the governors, giving him the position.

It was an admirable performance by him, even if he did say so himself. There was much screaming, wand-pointing, and at least three deflected hexes. He sneered, smirked and snarled at the perfect opportunities, baited Minerva and Flitwick, and gotten away with murder. Literally.

He still remembered the resounding noise that was the result of a well placed slap; unconsciously, Severus touched his cheek. It had cut him deeply, the words and the accusations. It had been extremely hard to stop the Carrows from using the staff for entertainment, and still not raise suspicion, after all that. Madam Hooch had given him an unreadable look, and so had Poppy. He supposed they had expected him to let the Carrows do as they would.

Severus sneered. It certainly would have convinced both parties where his loyalties lay, had he allowed it. Although the nonsense he had spewed about not wanting to waste Death Eaters in replacing faculty (too much for the dunderheads anyway, he had smirked) was sufficient for the Carrows, who were not very well known for intellectual conquests.

With torture, on the flip side, the Carrows were only next to Bellatrix and Lucius. The Order could ill afford any more losses.

Spelling the sample vial to be unbreakable, Severus descended the stairs, locking and warding the door behind him, notes safely stowed away. It had been on his mind since the day 14 had disappointed.

It was perfect, even if he did say so himself. The uric acid made it possible to solidify and convert to powder. The texture had given him the idea of salt, and from then on, he had spent many nights working on fixing the colour and level of dilution.

The undiluted version had been very quick in killing the test subjects. Now that Hagrid refused to help him in anyway that would not draw attention, Severus had resigned to having the elves bring him voles and rats. Bigger test subjects would become a nuisance.

The first rat had just dropped dead in no more than twenty seconds. Used to distasteful tasks such as dissection, he had noticed firstly that no blood was spilled when he cut open the body. Not even the smallest bit, which was normal in dissection.

What shocked him most was a look at the internals.

Blackened as if burned, all the arteries and veins were shrivelled up like vines without water. The heart had swollen a little, with all the coagulated blood, that remained dark red due to lack of oxygen.

When he had finally been able to dissect and magnify the major blood vessels, he could see that the walls were stuck to each other with a slightly gluey substance. On further analysis, (not an easy task with minute quantities and proportions, he might have added) it was clear that the leech juice had indeed shrunk the vessels, but the blood within had turned into what Severus could only think of as tar.

With several experiments, many batches of formula 15 with varied concentrations of ingredients were available, in colours that were mainly yellowish or brownish.

With each test subject, Severus had patiently burned much midnight oil, and eventually concluded that uric acid and the Euphorbia Tirucalli or milk-sap had combined with the iron in blood to result in the tar-like substance.

Severus felt faintly nauseous to think of the effects in Humans. The skin would be fraught with mazes of black.

Of course the other organs were destroyed completely.

The brain was inflamed, and partially blackened. It was as if the insides were exposed to withering heat. Terrible poison, but brilliant.

With the correct dilution levels, a greatly slowed-down version of these events could be induced. According to what Hermione had explained, it would be like the target had been drinking down grease.

His thoughts were intruded upon by a slight coughing, and Severus looked up to see the Headmaster watching him curiously.

"Yes, Albus?"

"I confess curiosity as to what you have been brewing lately," Dumbledore ventured slowly; "I believe it has occupied many nights."

"It has nothing to do with the Order or Voldemort directly," Severus bit out.

"I see," the old man stroked his beard thoughtfully, "so you will not tell me about it?"

"There is no need; neither do I wish to embark on that discussion with you."

"Ah," Dumbledore's gaze turned calculative, but Snape had meant the comment about not wanting to discuss his pet projects with Dumbledore. It was sure that Albus would manipulate that scheme as well. Snape glanced at the clock.

The elves would be busy preparing for dinner at this point. Perfect. McNair would do nicely for a subject this time around. A small switch of the salt with the sample, and a discreet spying session would work.

Grabbing his cloak and mask, Snape hurried to leave for Malfoy Manor.


	29. Confessions

"Where the hell have you been?"

Hermione was startled out of her thoughts, and nearly tripped at the portrait hole. She clutched at her chest and breathed.

"You scared me!"

"Likewise," said a very miffed looking Ron, "you've been gone for hours! I nearly sent a search party out for you!"

His tone rankled, but she held back, "I was out walking Ron, and ended up at the lake. I didn't notice the time."

Ron narrowed his eyes and Hermione was suddenly nervous. It was only a practiced eye that helped her notice his wand was now in his hand. She frowned, but discretely did the same.

The glint in Ron's eye was a bit worrying.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, silently calculating moves in her head. Something was not right, and she was damned if she wasn't going to be at least a little prepared. Severus would have a field day.

"Why did you just lie to me?"

"I didn't lie."

Ron snorted, "well, not telling the exact truth then. Clever."

"I've been told that cleverness is inherent with me."

"Bollocks! Either you're hiding something or you're not Hermione. Petrificus…"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

"How many times have I told you to not _speak the incantation out loud?_" Ron would have cringed if he could; Hermione nearly hollered the last part in his face. All he could do was stand there looking like a surprised sculpture.

He could move his eyes though, and rolled them anyway, only to get a sharp rap on his head.

Hermione's furious expression softened a little and she un-froze his head and neck, although she left the rest of his body rigid. Unfortunately for Ronald, he smiled and promptly fell over.

"Not _totalis_ then," she heard him mutter into the carpet, "How'd you do that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and unfroze him completely. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she snapped at him.

"Hermione, you disappeared beyond Hagrid's hut," Ron whined, rubbing his face gingerly, "I was worried when I couldn't find you!"

"Why were you following me?"

Ron frowned at her icy tone, but tried to explain, "shortly after you left, McGonagall came in and asked about you. She was nearly hysterical when she heard you'd been on your own." He lowered himself onto the couch, and patted the seat beside him.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and remained where she was. She saw him grimace a little and waited for the rest.

"She said she needed Harry for something, and sent me running after you. This is the thanks I get for it… yelled at by a teacher and beaten up."

"I didn't beat you up, although I'd be happy to oblige," Ron winced again, "quit squirming Ronald! One would think you're being interrogated!"

He didn't say anything, and Hermione sighed, sitting down in the armchair closest to the fire. She was tired after the day's events.

"You sound so much like him."

"Like whom?" she asked absently, turning to look into the fire.

"Snape."

Hermione froze. Did he suspect something? Slowly, she turned to look at him.

"Why do you say that?"

"It just is! You even talk like him! I've noticed this for a while now."

"Nonsense, Ronald," she said crisply, getting up to stoke the fire a bit, "you say the same thing for anyone who sounds as stern as Professor Snape."

"He's not a professor anymore Hermione! He's a murderer!" Ron yelled, his voice reverberated through the chamber.

"You're right, he's not a professor anymore."

Ron sat down, his anger deflated. Hermione sat down on the hearthrug. She didn't want to discuss Severus right now. There were too many things on her mind. Most of all, she missed him. She hadn't seen him since that night.

Hermione shuddered, she didn't want to recall the "welcome" he had received. She was still shocked at the kind of cruelty she had indulged in. It gave her nightmares, and she always woke up when Severus ended up bleeding and dying.

It always ended the same way; he would look at her with such sorrow in his eyes, and call out her name. Unbidden, she wondered what would happen if she didn't wake up at that instant.

"Hermione," Ron called her quietly, and she was startled to see that he was standing right behind her, "is there something you want to talk about?"

It was all too much. Tears made their way down her face and Hermione wondered when it was that they had all grown up so? A stubborn or incensed Ron, she could handle; she could even handle a cold-mannered Ron. What she couldn't handle or understand, was a sympathetic Ron with a shoulder to cry on.

He sat beside her and pulled her into a sideways hug, while she sobbed into his shirt. Dimly, she recalled that this seemed familiar, just like the night Dumbledore died.

Thoughts of Dumbledore made her cry afresh, and all the time, Ron just sat there, shushing her, talking nonsense to her. It was all so unexpected. When had this happened? Why did she miss it?

"When did you become so mature?" she muttered into his shirt, and heard him chuckle above her. Then he grew quiet, and Hermione stayed where she was, turning her face to look into the flames. It was nice, like this.

She didn't really expect him to answer, and was not just a little shocked at his very quiet response.

"Right about the time I started keeping secrets, I suppose."

Hastily, she pulled back to look at him. He refused to meet her eyes, but there was something about the determined set of his jaw that had her wary.

"What kind of secrets," she asked carefully.

"I suppose you wouldn't realise, nor Harry. I had to be away quite a lot, what with Harry working with Dumbledore," here he paused to swallow, "and you away on your extra credit work."

"What do you mean 'away a lot'? Where did you have to go?" Hermione knew where he was headed, but she wanted him to say it.

"I was out training with McGonagall and Moody, and sometimes," he winced, "with Snape."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Ron ran his hands through his hair in a familiar gesture, "guess I'm sorry for not having told you before."

"No, it's alright," she patted his arm, "it had to remain secret."

Ron narrowed his eyes at her, "You don't look so surprised by this news."

She shrugged; trying to quell the guilt she felt over lying to him still, "I guess nothing is too surprising to me these days."

He didn't seem to agree, but let it go anyway.

"So where'd you disappear to?" he asked, suddenly remembering.

"I was behind Hagrid's hut, just inside of the forest," it was the truth, anyway, "I was disillusioned," she added.

"Why?"

"I go there to think," she answered, still skirting around the truth, "it's the only place where I won't be disturbed."

"Why, the library too noisy?" he smirked and she elbowed him in the ribs.

"No," she spoke over his yelp, "I don't think the library is a place to sit and meditate. They might worry I finally went catatonic from over-studying."

They shared a small laugh at the weak joke, but it was enough for now. If Ron noted the lameness of the excuse, he said nothing. It was all part of growing up, she supposed. She couldn't tell him everything though, not just yet. As much as Ron had grown up, she doubted that he had matured enough to handle the whole truth, or even half of it.

Hermione knew for sure he'd act all funny if she said Snape had been training her in the Dark Arts. She wouldn't even think of telling him the other thing.

That'd go well.

Ron would explode, maybe kill her and then try to hunt down Snape and get killed in the process. No, that had to wait. There'd be a time for more confessions.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Ron smacked his head, "McGonagall wanted to see you after dinner."

Hermione didn't look forward to that meeting. At least she had a couple of hours to prepare her answers, and shields, if she wanted to keep things clear. Severus had warned her of the Headmaster's poking and prodding; Hermione wasn't sure if it extended to his deputy as well. Best to play it safe.

They talked of inconsequential things while they headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. This summer, no one had thought to have the single table like last would probably bring keen attention to the fact that the twinkling blue eyes and jovial laugh of the headmaster were no longer going to be with them.

Clamping down on the sorrow and fear that rose to the surface, Hermione sat down to dinner and took comfort at the sight of Ron stuffing food as if there wouldn't be enough to last. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

At least some things never changed.


	30. Choose

"I believe you understand why you have been called here?"

"I think I have a fair idea," Hermione answered cautiously. No need to give more than required.

McGonagall frowned, but said nothing. Shifting a few papers around the desk, she looked a bit at odds in that chair. Hermione glanced around while the headmistress gathered her thoughts. Her eyes fell to the newest member among the portraits, and her chest constricted a little.

Whether for the Headmaster or for Severus, she couldn't exactly say.

The headmistress glanced up at the sharp breath Hermione drew in, and followed her gaze to the sleeping portrait. The headmistress' frown eased and her expression turned sorrowful.

"He's not woken up yet," she sighed, "I know it is," McGonagall swallowed, "_difficult_ to accept it. It nearly undid me to have that portrait put up."

Hermione obediently nodded and turned back to the older woman. Of course, she wouldn't bother to correct her; Hermione had long since realised that information was best given sparingly or not at all, whenever possible.

The headmistress seemed to need time to recover, and Hermione politely looked away, discretely glancing at the portrait again. She could have sworn he had winked at her. So, the old man was feigning sleep, eh?

Surely, there must be a reason for it? McGonagall was his trusted second, wasn't she? Hermione very nearly smirked at the thought. Perhaps not _that_ trusted. It was ironic that Dumbledore would trust a Death Eater with his death, and not her. Then again, she thought darkly, Severus was more expendable, wasn't he?

Hermione clamped down on her rage; it would be harder to fight the influence if she couldn't control her erstwhile negative emotions. "Inner Peace," she thought to herself, and concentrated on breathing.

The headmistress, apparently mistaking her concentration for consternation, maintained silence for a few minutes.

"I need to know exactly what Se... Snape taught you in your sessions."

"What he was expected to teach me," she answered simply.

McGonagall seemed at a loss for words at this "And what was that?"

"Professor," she said slowly, "how much has the Headmaster told you?" It was a rather bold question, she knew.

As expected, McGonagall's frown deepened. "Miss Granger, what does that have to do with the question?"

"Everything," Hermione answered, "it wouldn't do to have you getting the wrong ideas, now."

"What are you implying, Miss Granger?"

"I'm implying nothing," she said, a tad irritated, "Professor Snape taught me what the headmaster asked him to. Whatever happened, was between those two. I'm just the student."

"Why Miss Granger! I would have not expected this kind of... stubbornness from you!"

"Isn't that what makes a _Gryffindor_?" she asked coldly, crossing her arms across her chest.

The headmistress was stunned. She certainly didn't expect this from the good little know-it-all, did she? Hermione held back a smirk; no need for that. Silence reigned, and soon they were only permeated by the snoring of various portraits and the tension. Hermione sighed; she'd have to watch herself. It would not do to come under the radar just yet.

"I'm sorry, Professor, it's just that, Prof.. Snape and I were nearly comrades, and that builds a sort of trust," she let out a breath, "I guess I feel rather betrayed."

"We all do, child," McGonagall replied, voice shaky, "I thought him my close friend, you know."

Hermione nodded and forced tears into her eyes, "it just _hurt_, professor, I couldn't believe it when Harry said that Snape had..." here she paused, and sniffled a bit.

"Oh my dear child, I know it is terrible. None of us expected this, and he," she blew noisily into a tartan handkerchief, and pointed at the sleeping Dumbledore, "won't wake up!"

Hermione wisely remained silent, and dried her own tears. Really this was getting bothersome. Who knew the stern Scotswoman would burst into tears this way? Okay, maybe, Hermione thought to herself, she was being hard on the headmistress. At least she was not openly insulting Severus, which was something. Hermione wasn't sure she could take that very well.

"I'm sorry," McGonagall sniffled, "now, let's get back to the topic. What were you learning?"

Hermione was sure the Headmaster was listening in very keenly to every word she said, so she weighed her words carefully.

"He was teaching me advanced defence techniques, physical training, and things like that. Like a military boot camp, basically."

"Is that all? Were there any particular topics that were," she searched for words, "too far removed from conventional defence?"

Hermione knew that the next words would put her either with Severus, or against him. She reinforced her shields, and pretended to think the question over.

"There were no topics that were taught that wouldn't help us in this war, Professor McGonagall," she said with full sincerity, "he stuck to the necessary techniques, and each session's materials were reviewed by the headmaster himself." Take that, Dumbledore; are you going to deny that? Hermione gave the portrait a sideways glance. No, still asleep or pretending to be.

The headmistress thought it over, and seemed to accept that answer. Hermione calmed her beating heart and mentally filed away the information that the deputy headmistress either didn't have the penchant for spying on thoughts, or she was so good at it, that her probing went un-noticed.

Hermione stuck to the former; McGonagall was not really the symbol of subtlety.

Taking her leave of the headmistress, Hermione rode the staircase and walked slowly through the corridors, back to the common room. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. She had just taken another step deeper into the centre of the storm.

She had chosen Severus.


	31. What if

"What'd she want?" Ron asked her, slumping into an armchair, sweaty and dishevelled.

Hermione wrinkled her nose; "Wash up, Ron! Other people use those chairs too, you know."

"Nah, s'alright," he grinned, "what're house elves for anyway?"

"Prat," she grumbled, "you know how I feel about the elves' working."

"Yeah, and we did tell you they _like_ working for us, 'Mione."

"Hmmpf."

Ron stared at the top of her bent head for a bit, waiting for her to finish whatever she was writing, or concealing post-haste.

"What's that?" he rose to stand in front of her.

"Nothing," she sighed, "some boring arithmancy about balancing equations and …"

Ron threw up his hands and cut off, what he thought would be a very thorough lecture, "I believe you, Hermione. No need to explain."

Hermione smirked and put away the papers. Good old Ron; she could always count on his fear of being bored to tears with academia.

"Been out flying?" she asked him, once he'd settled back in the chair.

"A bit," he smiled, pulling a chocolate frog from his pocket, "been out on rounds too, and a bit of chat with Moody."

Hermione was a bit irritated that Ron would be so free with information, especially after the incident. Didn't he know that he could trust no one?

No, he didn't. Hermione realised she was sounding more like Severus, than herself with such thoughts. She sighed and idly wondered what Severus would say to that. Shaking her head, she focussed on the here and now. It seemed that she could think of nothing but Severus these days.

"You alright there?" Ron's voice brought her out of it, "seemed to space out there, a bit."

"I'm fine, Ron, just wool-gathering."

"Right," he looked sceptical, but let it go. "So, you're coming to the Burrow right?"

"Yes, when are we permitted to leave?"

"Couple of days," he shrugged, "I'm happy here. Ginny says Mum's been a right taskmaster concerning the wedding."

They shared a smile; Molly Weasley was that. Hermione was not sure she could get any work done at all once they went to the Burrow. She still had to place wards around her notes. Not that anyone at the Burrow would spy on her, but the twins could not be taken lightly.

"Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you talked to Harry? I've not been able to get two words out of him these past few days."

Ron frowned, "No, he's pretty clammed up. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Hermione nodded, "it's fifth year all over again. I wish he'd realise we wouldn't leave him to do this alone!"

Ron shrugged, "I don't blame him. I'm happy that he and Ginny are together and all," he paused, not sure how to continue.

"But you also have to think like an elder brother, is that it?"

He seemed grateful for the understanding, "yeah. Sometimes I wish you were out of this mess as well."

Hermione's heart warmed at his words, uttered by someone else before. Her throat constricted, and she forced herself to remain calm. "I know, Ron," she spoke slowly, "but I can't leave you now; the both of you'd be lost before you know it."

Ron beamed at her, and she returned a smile. Suddenly, Ron's ears turned red, and he looked away.

A minute later, he spoke up, "so what did you talk to McGonagall about?"

"Professor McGonagall, Ron, and she wanted to know what I could do with the special project we were working on. I," she halted and swallowed, "I told her I wasn't sure, and that I'd keep her informed."

Ron nodded in understanding. He knew they wouldn't be returning after the break. He also knew how hard it was for Hermione to willingly leave her studies to follow them into whatever half-arsed hunt they were going on.

"I've done a bit of research," she continued, and ignored Ron's eye roll, "on Horcruxes." Ron winced, but indicated for her to continue; "there's not much in the Library, not even in the restricted section. All I know is that it requires great power, intent and concentration, and an act of murder."

Ron nodded, "that's what Harry relayed to us, yes?"

"Yes, but," here she phrased the words carefully; "the murder need not be for purposes of wrongdoing, from what I gather."

"How do you mean?"

Hermione struggled to put it correctly; it was crucial to get this right.

"From what I understand, an act of euthanasia, or mercy killing, can also be used to create a Horcrux, which leads me to conclude that intent is more powerful of the requirements to create one."

Ron remained silent, staring out at a point over her head. Hermione tried not to fidget.

"Protection, then?" he said slowly, and Hermione wanted to whoop in joy.

"yes," she said calmly, "protecting one's soul from being lost."

"So," he ran his hand through his hair, "if someone were to kill another in an act of mercy, the victim's soul could be protected?"

Hermione stared. He had gotten straight to the heart of the matter. She nodded dumbly, and Ron chuckled.

"I'm not all that bad, 'Mione."

Hermione smiled, "It's not that, Ron, I'm just surprised at how much you've grown." What would have happened if he had grown up before she had fallen in love with Severus?

Ron flushed, but continued, "So by my reckoning, the intent decides the soul that will be protected?" he frowned, "But Slughorn and Dumbledore both said that the soul is torn on killing."

Hermione winced, not caring to count the number of times she had killed; her soul could very well be Swiss cheese. "It is, only the impact is lesser when the intent is not wrong."

"Magic knows?"

"According to my theory, yes. Considering that accidental magic protects against getting hurt, it fits."

Ron became thoughtful and absently picked at his robes, which were still dusty, she noticed. It was enough for today that Ron had the idea of mercy killing in his head. The very fact that he didn't question the possibility showed her that he was trying to understand that not everything was what they seemed to be. It was a good start.

"Hermione," he said after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

Her head snapped up, "What?"

He seemed to draw on some reserve, "Look, I've been thinking," he glared at her mumbled 'Congratulations' and continued, "we're the so called Golden Trio, right?"

"Yes, I hate that name, don't you?"

He ignored the question, intent on getting to his point, "we all know Harry is training in one way or the other, or was, at least," he paused, "and I'm working with Mc… Professor McGonagall," he amended at her glare.

She nodded, impatiently, a bit wary of his line of thought.

"So that leaves you, and I'm pretty sure they are not letting you get away that easy, even if you are a girl."

Hermione bristled, and Ron backtracked, "what I mean is," he fished around, "you know I don't mean if in that way, 'Mione!"

She rolled her eyes but gestured him to go on. Ron released a breath he was holding, and smiled at her.

"So, what have you been doing on this _special _project, Hermione?"

Hermione grimaced. She hadn't expected to answer this line of questioning. She couldn't tell him the truth, and yet she couldn't lie. She needed him as an ally, even if he was slightly misled. A part of her brain snorted at the "slightly misled" and she stamped it out. She justified to herself that there was more help in telling him something.

Or not. But if she denied it, Ron would eventually find out, and it would be hell to deal with him then; at this time, they needed to stick together. She shook her head and drew in a deep breath.

"I've been training with Snape."


	32. Complications

"What?"

Hermione closed her eyes and sent a silent wish that it was not what she had heard.

"What the hell did you just say?" if anything, the tone was colder; she involuntarily shivered. Maybe she could Obliviate him?

Slowly, she turned to face the owner of the voice and winced at the thunderous expression on his face. He would have done less damage if he had screamed and shouted; cursed and hexed. But this, this very wrong tone of voice was frightening.

"I asked you a question," the window panes clattered.

"You heard me the first time." Obliviate?

"That bastard; you were working with that Bastard!" A few of the mantle pieces shook and fell off.

"Calm down."

"Tell me, what did you learn with him, hmm? How to kill?"

"Stop it! It was nothing like that!" He was scaring her.

"Tell me Hermione," the name sounded so accusing, she winced, and backed up a step.

"It was just advanced training, nothing more." Stay calm. If all else failed, there were memory charms. Mentally, Hermione planned the memory she could plant.

"That bloody bastard taught you? What else did he teach you Hermione? Was he any good?"

Hermione's eyes burned, and her throat closed up. She didn't know how much more she could stand this; already the voices were getting louder. She hoped someone knew what would result if her temper met his; she surely didn't.

"Stop it!" she cried, ashamed of the tears that fell freely. She couldn't tolerate the accusing tone, not from him. "It's over now, and he didn't teach me anything unnecessary." Why was she crying?

"Oh, so there is more to this, eh? Tell me Hermione, was he any good?" This time, the leer was unmistakable, Hermione cringed at his tone, mingled with disgust.

"Stop it, you great fool. Dumbledore knew what was going on, and there was nothing worth _leering_ at." She was better now. The tears had stopped, and in it's place, there was a cold detachment. Hermione had heard enough.

"Dumbledore's dead, isn't he. Sure you didn't have a hand in…"

The common room resounded with the force of her slap, cutting off the horrible words he was saying.

"Stop it mate," Ron's voice cut in, while he put himself in between the two, roughly pushing Harry onto the nearest chair, "you've said more than enough."

Harry seemed to deflate, and come to his senses. He watched quietly, as Ron led her to the couch, and sat down with her. Hermione buried her face in Ron's robes and sobbed.

Harry felt shame flow through him; he had no idea what caused him to react so. His anger was so great he had failed to see whom he was hurting with it. His face flushed with the memory of the things he had said.

"Her…"

"I think you should leave now, Harry."

Ron's tone hurt, but Harry knew he deserved this. "I'm sorry. I really am." With that, he left the common room, head hung and hands stuffed in his pocket. Ron watched his departure with wariness. He knew he's have to go talk to Harry soon, before he did something stupid. Again.

He sighed and kissed the top of Hermione's head, wishing that this had gone any other way. How had they not noticed Harry's arrival? Ron shook his head; they'd have to be more careful after this.

"I'm sorry Ron," Hermione mumbled into his robes, and he shushed her.

She raised her head to look at him, "I'm sorry I didn't intervene earlier, Hermione," he grimaced, "I was sort of frozen."

Then he smiled a little, "I wonder what the old bat would have said to that."

Hermione laughed a little and put on her best Snape voice, "you idiotic dunderheads! Do you realise what could have happened?"

They both laughed a bit awkwardly. Hermione sobered enough to say, "I think you have to talk to him Ron. Tell him it's alright, I forgive him," she shrugged, "he was angry. So was I."

"He should learn to control his temper!" Ron hissed, "he knows very well that he's weakest when he's out of control!"

"Knowing and understanding are two different things, Ron." Hermione wiped her face and patted her hair into place, "but Harry," she gestured vaguely, "needs the right words to help him differentiate."

Ron nodded. It was a right mess.

"Go, Ron, and try to help him. I'll be alright," she gently pushed his shoulder, "thanks, Ron. You've been wonderful."

Ron flushed and rose to his feet, "right," he mumbled and turned to leave. "Be good now," he threw over his shoulder, and ducked out of the portrait hole.

Hermione smiled at his antics, and relaxed into the cushions. She was tired, and there was still so much to do.

Pushing herself off the couch, she gathered her books and parchment, repaired the broken and displaced things, and left the common room for her dormitory. As much as she forgave Harry for his behaviour, she didn't want to face him now. She also had to find a way to get word to Severus. Harry knew, and Severus would blow a gasket.

"Aargh!" she cried out to the empty dormitory, "why me?"

And as always, she never heard an answer.

Hermione was worried. In a few days she would leave for the Burrow, and it would become nearly impossible to meet Severus then. She hoped he's get the news of their moving, and come to meet her. Now, she had to find a way to escape Ron's and Harry's notice for a few hours in the evenings.

Perhaps she would 'encourage' the boys to spend time together. To keep an eye on Harry of course. And she? She had work to do, in the restricted section, to which only she had the pass.

Smiling at the thought of seeing Severus again, Hermione shut the door to the dormitory, and proceeded to mentally make a list of things to do.

Two days, she thought to herself. It had better be enough.


	33. Preparation

The trip to the Burrow was a lesson in shock.

One minute she was facing a mutinously quiet Harry and a resigned, but hopeful Ron; the next minute, she was facing a flurry of activity in a crowded kitchen. It stunned her, for a moment too long, as it was.

"Sorry, 'Mione," Ron breathed into her ear, grabbing her firmly around the waist, when he nearly barrelled into her at the Floo.

Hermione coloured, "It's alright, Ron, it was my mistake."

He quickly pushed them both to the side, and they missed Harry charging in by a split second.

"Phew! That was close," Ron said behind her, "would have been a right sight, if he'd bumped into us."

"You are a right sight too, you know," they heard Ginny say, and belatedly realised she was still in Ron's hold. Ron flushed and quickly let her go, and Hermione attributed her sudden colouring to the whirlwind travel.

Ginny only smirked and turned around to hug Harry, who had a strange smile on his face.

Mentally kicking herself, she made her way upstairs, to the room she had to share with Ginny. She didn't mind Ginny, who was a saint compared to her roommates at Hogwarts. Parvathi and Lavender could drive the best of them to murder.

"So, finally getting it on with him, eh?"

She grimaced at the words, while she placed her trunk by the bed, and shook her head. "It was not what it looked like."

"Really? Could have fooled me. You two looked pretty cozy there," Ginny was wearing a sly smile that Hermione wanted to wipe the floor with.

"He stopped me from falling arse over tea kettle in your kitchen," she said, not bothering to conceal her irritation, "it wasn't like we were snogging right there."

"Right," Ginny's grin widened, "thou doth protest too much, mi' lady."

"Ginny," Hermione warned, and the other girl raised her hands in a placating manner.

"Alright, alright," she huffed, and then shrugged, "it's not as if Mom hasn't picked out the names of your kids anyway."

"What?" Hermione's eyes widened, "you're joking!"

"Nope," Ginny flopped down on her bed, "it's true, I heard Mum talking to Dad the other night, about how you and Ron look so _wonderful_ together."

Hermione groaned. This was terrible. The last thing she needed or wanted was more of Molly Weasley's mothering. "Shit," she muttered.

"Watch your mouth, young lady," Ginny imitated her mother, but momentarily grew serious, "it's not that bad is it?"

"Which part?" Hermione sat down with a heavy sigh.

"Being with my brother. I know he's a prat and all, but you know he cares for you, right?"

Hermione felt bad for the hopeful look in Ginny's eyes. How she wished she could tell her the truth, but if wishes were horses…

"No Ginny, it's not like that," she said slowly, "it's just that there is so much else to worry about, you know? I haven't really paid much attention to anything these days."

"That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about, Hermione," Ginny sat up straight, "you three are up to something and I need to know what it is."

Ginny's attitude irritated Hermione; being Harry's girlfriend didn't entitle her to expect information that Harry himself had withheld, and Hermione told her in as many words.

"He won't tell me, and I know you three are up to something. I doubt you'd want my mother to have an idea like that."

"Blackmail isn't going to get you anywhere, Ginny," Hermione's voice could freeze water; how dare she, the little chit!

"If anything, Harry would be most displeased to hear if your mother did get any ideas," the smirk on Ginny's face faded into a tight line. Hermione was reminded of Molly Weasley so much; looks like the daughter was turning into the mother. Did Harry realise what he was getting into?

"Hermione," Ginny's voice took on a pleading note, "please. I know he's planning something and I want to be a part of it!"

"If he decides you should be, then maybe. Ron will throw twice the fit, I assure you."

"Ron's a Prat."

"I think you'd be surprised at how much he's changed."

"Ha! You're saying that because you're sweet on him, is all."

"Are we back to that again? How many times have I told you, it isn't like that!"

Ginny wisely shut it and Hermione went about changing into clean clothes and putting away her things. After a while, she heard Ginny stomp out of the room. How very mature, Hermione thought to herself, and rolled her eyes.

She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands. It was getting too much, really. Harry was being an arse, to both her and Ron. It was like fifth year again, except now she and Ron had to deal with Ron's bratty sister as well. To think that Harry's childishness was not enough.

It surprised her to think that one time, she had the duty of being the sensible one. Now Ron shared that role with her. It was relieving to know he was there. Hermione felt a pang of guilt in thinking that she was most likely using him to reduce her own loneliness. She sighed and lay down on the cot.

Severus had not come. She'd taken to carrying the galleon around with her, just in case he needed to meet her. But he'd not come.

Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the sounds emanating from all parts of the crowded house. Voices filtered through to her, muffled and muted. She tried to recognise them. There were a couple of voices she could not place, and Hermione remembered that Fleur and her sister were here.

She heard Ron's voice yelling something at the twins; someone shuffled around in the rooms above hers, something thumped against the walls of her room, running was heard, and Molly Weasley's distinct tones berating someone all surrounded her.

Hermione breathed in and smiled. It was good to be here, all things aside. The Weasleys' always felt cosy and welcoming. A small tapping was coming from somewhere, when Hermione had nearly drifted asleep. She was so tired.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Go away," she mumbled, and turned to lie on her side.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"What?!" She snapped and opened her eyes, only to be met with an empty room. Oh!

The window. Hermione frowned. Owls were restricted to the Burrow. Drawing her wand, she magically opened the window and let the tiny owl in. It settled on the bed frame and hooted at her, sticking a leg out.

Attached to the leg was a small money pouch.

Wary of portkeys and other such things, Hermione cast all possible detecting spells at the object. Apart from a few standard charms, there was no sign of anything more. The owl hooted impatiently, and she could swear it glared at her.

"Alright, keep your feather on," she muttered, undid the pouch and peeked inside. There was a galleon which had to be a fake, unless she won a bet she didn't know about.

A slow smile crept across her face, as realisation came to her.

"Severus," she breathed, and her heart did a little jig at the thought of him. Lovingly, she fingered the galleon, and was unsurprised when it hummed and glowed with energy, like an eager pet that had found its master.

Severus was at Hogwarts, which meant that the news would spread and be out by the evening prophet at the latest. A small thrill went down her spine to think of Severus as the headmaster, of one of the premier schools of magic.

The events that led to it were less than spectacular of course, but it was what it was.

"Ouch!" Hermione sucked on her wounded finger, and glared at the owl, who gave her a majestic sneer, reminiscent of the sender. Crooking a finger in the direction of her trunk, she summoned the bag of owl treats and let the owl help itself, while she pondered the use of the galleon.

Severus had modified the charm, she could safely assume, for the coin looked nothing like the one she had worked with. It was up to her to figure out how it was activated. Leave it to him to make this into a game and lesson combined.

She realised she was grinning, possible like a loon, and brought her expression under control. Hermione thought of how his fingers would have touched the coin and how he would have thought of her while clutching it in his warm palms.

Hermione missed him, and longed to just rest with him like that last night.

Picking up the coin, she pressed her lips to it before clutching it in her fist, and placing it over her heart. She at least knew he was safe. It drove her to distraction, thinking about him, and kind of risks he took just to keep the Order from being brought to their collective knees.

Anger flooded her when she thought of the slanderous things the members of the Order had taken to saying against Severus. Of course, they didn't know the truth, but they could be at least a bit courteous.

"To a murderer?" she barked out a laugh at that, "Expect an invitation to high tea?"

"Oh," she breathed, noticing she had smeared some of the blood from her finger onto the coin. Immediately, the coin vibrated and turned a tinge red, and Hermione had the impression it was conveying some sense of urgency. Quickly, she thought of ways to communicate through it. What would she have done?

Tuned it to things he loved, and in this case, he would most likely have done the same. Books? No. Her words came back to her.

"Newly mown grass, fresh parchment," Her mind seemed to remember all the times she had lain with him on the grass, and worked with him surrounded by parchments.

How did he know? Had he guessed?

She'd just have to ask him that.

She pulled out some parchment from her trunk, and the quill he'd given her, plopping down on the small bed.

Once the coin touched the parchment, Hermione held her breath, but nothing happened. She pressed her hand onto the galleon, covering it, and touching the parchment at the same time. Still nothing.

Frowning, and a bit anxious at the way the coin seemed to be agitated, her heart clenched at the thought of Severus in need of help, while she couldn't think of a way to help him.

The coin stilled, and instead, grew warm again, and tendrils of black seemed to seep into the paper from the coin.

She watched in wonder as the wisps gathered and formed a single word that had her heart dancing with joy, unbidden tears forming at her eyes.

_Hermione._

She traced the word, before picking up her own quill to write on the parchment.

_Severus, I'm here. _

The words flew rapidly onto the parchment.

_Are you alright? The coin conveyed you were hurt. Are you?_

_Oh, nothing. Your owl was a bit cranky, is all._

The parchment and coin seemed somehow to fall out of tension, almost breathe a sigh of relief.

_How are you? I've been worried. You didn't turn up before I left._

_I couldn't. I'm being watched carefully. It is difficult to get away from prying eyes. You understood how the charm works?_

_I did, quite by accident. You didn't doubt my heart, did you?_

No response came forth, and Hermione was both angered and saddened to think that Severus felt this way.

_I meant it when I said it, Severus._

Still no response.

_Severus?_

A moment later, hesitantly, a reply formed.

_Hope is not something I am accustomed to._

Hermione laughed through her tears.

_It's all we have, left. Hope for us, Severus. I certainly do._

A pause, then...

_I shall try. For you. _

Hermione smiled. It was just like him to make it sound like he was indulging her.

_Good. When can I see you next?_

_Soon. When is your little picnic?_

_As soon as the last guest has been sent home._

_Have the basket prepared for all times, at easy reach._

Hermione felt a fleeting fear.

_Alright, anything going on?_

_You'll know soon enough. Enjoy the wedding._

_I'll save you a dance, shall I?_

A long pause, Hermione fiddled.

_I'd be honoured._

Hermione could have danced right there. It was silly to think about it; dancing at a time like this, but it kept her spirits high.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she signed off hastily, before shoving the coin in the pocket of her trousers.

Ron's head came around the door, "Alright there, 'Mione?"

"Fine," she smiled at him, and he entered the room fully, hesitating at the doorway.

"Come in, Ron," I grinned, "I won't bite."

He gave a crooked grin and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Mum asked me to call you for dinner," he said slowly, "but I wanted to ask you if you were alright. I know Ginny's been giving you grief about what happened this afternoon."

Hermione was sure she could kill Ginny. "It's alright, Ron, Ginny's just taking out Harry's behaviour on us."

He nodded and looked at her fully. Hermione was wary at the look on his face.

"She's right about one thing, though. I do care for you. A lot."

"Ron, I..." he cut her off.

"I know you don't feel the same way."

Hermione was stunned. What?

Ron chuckled at her, "I'm not all that stupid, Hermione."

Hermione coloured, "It's not that, Ron, you know it."

He hummed and fell silent looking at the open window. "I hope that in time, you'll get over him."

Hermione swallowed. This was not good.

"I'm not sure what you're saying, Ron."

He gave her a piercing stare.

"I won't spell it out, Hermione. Don't take me for a fool. You can tell others all you want that it is exhaustion, or shock or whatever it is you want them to believe. I know Hermione. It's not like when you were with Krum."

Hermione regarded him silently, waiting to see where it went.

"With Krum, it was something like a crush. You didn't daydream, but you did have that secret smile of yours, when you saw him."

"It's the same now, only this time, it's the look you get, like how mum gets when Dad's off on a raid, or on Order business. It's not just a crush."

Hermione spelled the room against eavesdroppers.

"What are you trying to say, Ron?"

"I'm trying to say that you're in love with someone. It's fairly easy to guess whom."

Hermione flinched at the coldness that seemed to take over Ron.

"Ron," she tried, "it's complicated."

"Maybe," he became quiet again, "but I just need to know that you know what he did."

There was no point hiding. She was actually quite relieved to think that Ron knew. "I know, Ron."

"And you understand that it was unforgivable?"

"Yes."

"Good, because as much as I love you, Hermione, I'll kill him myself, if he tries to take you over to the other side, or even tries to see you."

"And me, Ron?"

He said nothing, and Hermione had her answer. She'd tell Severus later on. They'd have to be extremely careful, now that she knew there was at least one person who'd be watching her every move.

"It's time for dinner," he said, and stood up to leave.

Ron stopped at the door, hand on the knob. "If things were different..."

"But they're not," she whispered to his back.

Ron's shoulders tensed, and then relaxed.

"Mum's waiting," he said, before leaving the room.

Hermione composed herself and took a deep breath, before descending into the den of chaos, that was the kitchen at The Burrow.


	34. Departures

It was noisy. Very noisy.

Hermione was hard pressed not to leave the tent. If she did, Ron would notice and come running behind her, and she didn't want to be with Ron right now.

Since that surprising evening in her room, Molly had kept them all apart, running each of them off in different directions. It looked like Ginny had planted something after all.

She smirked, Harry seemed to be adamant in leaving Ginny out of this whole bloody mess, and Ginny was being every bit as stubborn as her mother. It was amusing, actually, all the so called "sneaking" the redhead was doing. Severus would have had a field day if he were here.

_But he isn't, _a small part of her brain reminded her, and Hermione's smirk fell off her face. She schooled her face into an appropriate smile, and watched the revellers.

_Fools, _she thought to herself, _they ought to be more careful, at a time like this. _

But who was she to talk? She had her own share of stolen moments, and thoughts and hopes. It was best they'd get the last celebration out of the way. Hermione had the nagging suspicion that something would give, and it would happen sooner, rather than later.

She had followed his advice to the letter, and kept everything handy. Involuntarily she patted her bottomless beaded bag. They had had little chance to talk since then, but she had managed to talk to him for five minutes. He had updated her on what was going on, and she had done the same. The news of his appointment was met with the riot as expected. He'd warned her over and over again Not to leave the boundaries of the Burrow till it was absolutely necessary.

They had decided on a place in Muggle London she could apparate to, in case of an emergency; it was near her home, and she could clearly remember her visits there.

Then she had told him about Harry and Ron, and what they knew, in turn. Hermione was very glad that she was not in front of him when it happened. The parchment and coin quivered and she could feel the anger radiating off of them. Then everything went very quiet, and Hermione wondered if he had left.

Slowly, the words started forming on the paper.

_Do you regret it?_

_Regret what? Ron knowing? Or you?_

Nothing happened for a moment, and then – _Everything._

Hermione was angry; she wrote with such fury that the parchment tore.

_How dare you say such a thing?? You very well know I don't!_

A long pause.

_Severus?_

She was about to write something, when more words formed.

_You cannot expect me to not ask what is on my mind. You are young yet._

_I'm about as young as you ever were at this age. Stop asking me such things, please. You know I love you._

_Thank you._

Hermione's heart clenched and she tried not to pepper the parchment with kisses; if anyone had to worry, it was her. He was always expecting to die, and it was disastrous to even think of it happening.

They'd talked of more preparations and plans till Molly's voice rang out to her.

He'd not called to her since, and not responded to her, the one time she had called. It increased her worrying, and Molly's intervention was not doing it much good either.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand on her shoulder; she'd started and pulled her wand on the person, only to be faced with a slightly worried Fred. Or George. Whichever twin was at hand.

"Sorry Fred, a bit jumpy."

"I'm George."

"Oh! I'm sorry…"

"Nah! It's Fred, alright. Are you alright?"

Hermione was a bit irritated, but let it go. "I'm fine, just a bit tired, is all."

"Right," he looked at her sceptically, "anyway, care to dance?"

She hesitated, "I'm not sure…"

"Come on, lovely lady," he bowed deeply, "I promise not to trample your toes too much!"

Hermione looked at his grinning face, and found her spirit lifting a bit. She sighed; oh what the hell.

It was fun, she realised, as Fred did wild manoeuvres, and she tried to keep up without falling arse over tea-kettle. It was exhilarating, and all her worries seemed to take a hike for the duration of that dance.

It was therefore surprising when she noticed the silver patronus speaking with a clear deep voice.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

There was a deep silence around her ears for less than a moment, and then, like the wind rushing by, there was utter chaos. People screamed and tried to head for the exits, or simply ran about not knowing what to do; Fred pulled her to the side before she could get crushed.

Pop. Pop. Pop…

Not turning to confirm what those were, Hermione ran towards where she had last seen Ron. He met her halfway, and yelled at her to find Harry. Together, they tried making their way out of the tent, and away from the whole mess. Death Eaters were everywhere.

Hermione drew her wand and nearly cursed Harry when he caught them from behind. They could see the order members fighting off the death eaters, and trying to control the rampaging crowd. Some had already been cursed, and still others were helping in the fight.

In that moment, Hermione realised two things: one, they had to leave this place immediately, for Harry's sake, and because this was the one opportune moment to slip away. Two, He was here.

Much as Hermione would have loved seeing him, she realised it would be stupidity to hang around any longer. Severus had told her to leave when she could, and now she could.

"HOLD ON!" She bellowed, seeing a death eater approach them; Hermione grabbed hold of Ron and Harry's arms and spun on the spot, destination clear in her head.

The three of them disappeared just before a black clad hand grabbed a hold of her.

Severus breathed a sigh of relief when his hand closed over thin air. If he had caught her, it would have been utter disaster.

Growling in frustration for the audience, he went back to "cursing" the Order Members, and missing, quite accidentally of course.

He hoped they would be safe. The Dark Lord had placed people in positions close to prime targets, Hermione being one of them. He sincerely hoped those three didn't meet with any trouble.

"Damn it!" he cursed aloud. He'd forgotten to tell her about the Taboo! "For once in your lives, forget being brave, forget about not fearing a name!"

In Muggle London, two young people were hurriedly making their way down Tottenham Court Road, to a spot where they could sit and talk, unaware of whom they were bumping into, or jostling about.

An old homeless person lay on the pavement in an alley. People simply assumed he was drunk or mad or both, when he pointed vaguely toward the couple's legs, and yelled, "Them shoes're walkin on their own! Ghosts! Ghosts!"

Hermione quietly spoke "_Amplavi Timor_", discreetly pointing at the old man, and people only tutted or cursed when he screamed and ran away, pushing others in his haste.

Spotting a fairly deserted café, Hermione made her way into it, Ron and an Invisible Harry on her heels.


	35. In the forest of Dean

It was dark and quiet, and there hung a heavy air of resentment in the little tent, somewhere in the forest of Dean.

Hermione sniffled into her blanket, and watched as Ron sulked in the corner. Sleep eluded all of them, and this tension wasn't helping any. Harry was brooding, yet again, outside, having taken voluntary guard duty.

This cloying sense of doom and gloom was eating away at them, and Hermione didn't know how long it would be, before things became unbearable.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of the hurtful things Ron had hurled at her. She expected that he would be disagreeable and difficult, but there were some things that couldn't be excused, even on the account of bearing something as sinister as a Horcrux around one's neck. She sniffled again, unable to drown out the tone of his voice or the sheer ruthlessness he had exhibited in winning the argument.

Her sniffling must have disturbed him, or so Hermione thought with a stab of anger, when Ron swiftly rose and exited the tent. The air seemed to clear up immediately, and Hermione could breathe a little easier. Too long had it been, she felt, since an immovable weight had sat itself on her chest, unwilling to let her rest, or draw in air, without the murkiness of evil in it.

Not for the first time, she cursed The Dark Lord, his minions, and even Dumbledore. Dumbledore should have killed him long before, like he did Grindelwald. It was uncharitable, she knew, but she was not feeling particularly charitable at this moment, stuck in the middle of a forest, deeply involved in what she was closer and closer to terming a wild goose chase.

She was tired, hungry and irritated. She missed her bed back at Hogwarts, and she would kill to attend one lecture, or even see one of her professors.

Speaking of professors, she thought with a sigh and fingered the galleon she had carried with her all these months, still and silent, except for the one time it had hummed with a warmth, but held no words for her. She believed Severus was giving her a sign. It had been enough for then, but now, Hermione wasn't sure anymore.

Rousing herself from the small cot, she threw on a warm cloak, and left the tent. As expected, Ron and Harry were sitting a large distance apart, each looking mutinous and suspicious. They turned in unison, realising the presence of another, and stared at her.

"I'm going for a walk," she said calmly, winding her scarf about her neck, as if it were merely a stroll through the school grounds.

"Not Bloody Likely!" Ron exploded, and Harry simply gave her a piercing look, that Hermione didn't want to decipher.

"Shut up, Ronald," she said in a quiet voice. The effect was immediate; Ron's face moved from shocked, to guilty, to six shades of red.

Hermione cut off any tirade with a sharp look, and Ron's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Harry stepped up to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked in a voice that carried only to her, and she nodded jerkily.

"I just need some fresh air, is all," she said equally quietly, and glanced at Ron, who stood there fuming, but not making an attempt to come to her.

Harry didn't have to look to know, and he nodded quietly, pulling her into a brief hug.

"Take care, alright, and you know how to call to us if you need to?" he whispered into her ear.

Hermione smiled a little and tightened her arms around him. "Yes," she replied simply, and disengaged from the embrace.

Wordlessly, she disillusioned herself, and walked toward the perimeter. Harry was staring at where he assumed her to be, and Hermione had the strange feeling that he could see through such glamour and cloaking spells. It didn't surprise her in the least; Harry seemed to exude a silent kind of power, and she could feel it growing steadily, albeit slowly. He seemed to find spell casting easier, and had even tried his hand at wandless magic.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little pang in her heart, remembering all the times she had spent with Severus, learning the very same things. Her eyes stung at such thoughts, and proved to be the final straw. The last vestiges of bravado crumbled and left her a sobbing heap at the foot of a large oak tree. Here, hidden in the shadows, Hermione clutched the galleon to her chest, and cried. She cried for herself, her friends, for the death of innocence and the existence of such evil.

Hermione screamed, but the hand covering her mouth prevented everything but a muffled noise, from leaving her lips. How could she have been so careless? Hermione forced her panic to subside, and concentrated on burning the foreign hand.

"Shh," a whisper in her ear, urged her to keep silent. A vague smell, too familiar to her, invaded her senses, and she relaxed fractionally.

"Quiet," her captor said in a soft whisper, and Hermione knew that voice. A flood of relief engulfed her, but such thoughts as _Polyjuice_, kept her from being taken in.

"Let me go!" she screamed, but her voice was downed to a meaningless noise through the calloused fingers.

"Hermione, it's me," he continued, his knees digging into her side. At the shake of her head, he sighed, and spoke "You realise that your struggle will not be worth even the galleon in your pocket?"

Hermione grinned, and he must have felt it, for she felt his breath ruffle her hair in a quiet chuckle. His grip slackened, and she took advantage of it, turning to throw herself at the black clad form.

Her over-eager embrace knocked him off balance, and they both fell backwards, with Severus knocking his arm painfully on one of the tree's protruding roots.

"Bugger!" he swore, while Hermione removed the disillusionment spell, giggling at the scowl on his face.

"How'd you find me? I was supposed to be cloaked," she grinned up at him, content in lying where she was, tree roots be damned.

"Your caterwauling could have woken the dead," he muttered sulkily, and Hermione flinched, all traces of humour disappearing from her face. She quickly pushed herself off of him, into a seated position at his feet, and looked at him with blank eyes.

Severus sighed; it was quite insensitive of him, he realised, bringing himself to sit cross legged, in front of her. She resolutely stared at the ground, biting her lip, no doubt to stop herself from crying again.

He gathered her in his arms, and let her. It was a while before her sobs subsided into sniffles, and finally ceased.

"I'm sorry," she looked up at him, and he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

"No matter," he murmured, and proceeded to swallow any words that might have made their way to her lips.

"Severus," she drew out his name, moments before she returned his gesture, making him forget, for those blissful minutes, everything else that might need his attention. It was in these stolen moments, that he had started to define his time, the rest of the world taking a step back.

"I've hoped for this moment for so very long," he said to her in a hushed voice, their foreheads touching, breaths coming in short gasps, fogging over in the chill of the evening air.

"As have I," she traced the contours of his cheeks, "you've grown thin," she whispered in concern, finding the cheek bones sharper than she remembered.

"No more than you have," he chuckled, and drew her into his arms, afraid that this might be the last time he would be able. The situation was escalating, he knew, the Dark Lord was turning restless, as were his minions. Murders were far too often carried out, and these children carried the key.

At length, they parted, and discussed matters, in which Severus confessed his oversight regarding the taboo.

"I realised that there was something of the sort," she shrugged, "no better reason to explain the sudden appearance of Death Eaters at the café."

"What?" he hissed, "What happened?" The anger in his voice was belied by the concern in his eyes, Hermione noted, and she related the events in as much detail as she could, without causing him more distress.

The relief was evident in Severus' features as she concluded the narrative, and they quickly moved on to current happenings. Hermione mentioned the effects the Horcrux was having on them all. Severus was thoughtful for a moment, before instructing her to try and post Potter as guard, the night he would signal her through the galleon.

"Three short bursts, followed by two more; this sequence I will repeat till I get your response. Is that understood?"

"Yes," she replied, and then seemed to realise that it had been quite long since she had left the camp; Harry would be getting worried.

"It is time," Severus intoned, noticing the play of emotions on her face; she nodded in response.

Hermione got to her feet and proceed to dust herself off with her hands. Severus looked to the sky and sighed, "Are you a witch or not?" before waving his hand, leaving her robes clean and pressed.

Hermione grinned sheepishly, and hugged him quickly. One last time, he said to himself, and drew in her scent.

"Best not to draw it out," he thought sadly, and after pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, stepped back with reluctance and blinked out of existence.

Hermione stared at the spot for a moment more, before turning to head back to camp. She could tell the boys that she lost track of the time, which was true. She never had the track of time when she was with him.


	36. Through a portrait's eyes

"The carrot topped weasel has left," announced Phineas casually, removing imaginary lint from his robes, and sitting regally sprawled in his customary armchair.

The only indication that Severus had even heard was the slight pause in his furious scrawling; Phineas wondered how he managed not to rip the parchment. Appalling handwriting too, the former headmaster thought haughtily. Then again, what would you expect of a half-blood?

"It was expected," Snape said in almost equally casual a tone, only a tiny twitch of his jaw signalled any underlying anger. "What more would you expect of a Weasley?"

"You only say that because of the girl."

"If that even made sense, I failed to understand it."

"Come now, Severus," he drew out the name in a sibilant hiss, making said person flinch, "don't play coy with me. You are glad that he left, less threat to your position in the mudblood's heart."

In a flash, Severus' wand was pointed straight at the arrogant portrait, "use that term again, and you'll be wearing florid clothing for eternity... headmaster."

Phineas shuddered, and raised his hands in placation, "alright, alright; don't get your wand in a knot."

Severus cocked his head to the side, seeing through a curtain of hair, as if contemplating something, a wholly unwholesome smirk on his face. If portraits could sweat, Phineas' would be. A moment later, Severus snorted and lowered his wand. True, the current headmaster required his services, but no matter what, Phineas was duty bound (not to mention magically bound) to help him, florid clothing notwithstanding.

"When?" the single word was uttered with such disdain, the portraits took notice.

"Only just," Phineas snorted, "she cries almost all the time now. It's hard to say if _he_ is the reason or not." He shrugged elegantly.

Severus only hummed and resumed his writing, although it was less furious than before. Headmaster Black was content to watch the young wizard at his work. Severus Snape was nothing if not intense, and every word or movement was measured. Where the bushy haired girl was almost impossibly readable and voluminous in terms of speech, Severus was clipped and almost unreadable, even to those who watched him on a regular basis. Ah well, thought Phineas, stranger things have happened.

Watching the wizard sitting hunched over his notes, or last testament and will, or whatever it was that Severus was now writing, Phineas was struck with how, well... _closed _the man was. It was as if an invisible wall was constructed carefully around him, keeping everyone out, or himself in, whichever way you saw it. He seemed aloof and unconcerned, arrogant at best, and cruel, but it was evident, from all the years Phineas had communicated with Severus, as head of house and now headmaster, that there was so much more to the man. Apparently Granger had discovered the same; clearly they were attracted to each other.

Anyone who was at the receiving end of Severus' many wonderful public relations' qualities would shudder at the thought of him _caring_ for anything but malicious pleasure at others' suffering. The former headmaster released a sigh, and contemplated Severus Snape.

Phineas knew, that the only reason Severus ever did any of the distasteful things he did was love, honour or anger, or a combination of the three. If he didn't know the excellent brain, and it's cunning glory contained behind that scowling countenance, Phineas would have wondered if the sorting hat finally had made a mistake with this one; but no, Severus was the Slytherin container of all the houses of Hogwarts.

Of course, saying that out loud would make florid clothing seem enticing, considering what Severus would do to him. Phineas snorted at the thought; Severus was so much in denial about his ability to care and love, that it would be comical, if her were any lighter of character.

"I'm glad you find I'm a good little study for your inherent amusement, headmaster Black," of course the tone of delivery was anything but.

"Ah, Severus," interrupted another voice, that Phineas sometimes thought would peal the paint from his canvas, so intolerable it seemed, "you always take things too personally."

"How kind of you to join us, Dumbledore," Severus barely glanced at the intruder, "I was thinking you'd forgotten all about the current events. Not senile, I see. Yet."

To Phineas' consternation, Dumbledore simply chuckled and twinkled. Headmaster Black thought blissfully of the day he would be able to walk around between portraits again. Maybe then, he'd find Sir Cadogan, that twittering nitwit, and run the knight's sword through Dumbledore's blasted twinkling eyes, and I-know-something-you-don't look. Come to think of it, he didn't know if portraits could twinkle.

He'd dared not try it himself; Severus would merely ask him if he had something in his eye, or worse, tell him he was turning into that old coot of a Dumbledore.

Phineas shuddered.

"Cold, Headmaster?"

"Not at all, Headmaster."

Phineas ignored his neighbour's (Blast you, Severus) chit-chat, and unending offers of that sticky sweet, and went back to brooding.

Yes, he concluded, there was nothing to be said about the passion that Severus concealed so well, or the noble nature, not to mention the frantic energy and strength that was always just under the surface, ready to be used at the slightest hint of need.

No, the nasty bastard of a potions' master was a brilliant diamond in the rough, well, maybe a diamond surrounded by a really thick layer of rock, but a diamond nonetheless. What a waste of such ingenious mettle. Truly rare to find, wizards who were worth one toenail on Severus' left foot. That fool Riddle was a lying, filthy half life.

"It is time, Albus," Severus snapped out, getting up abruptly, the scraping of his chair loud in the chamber. Several portraits grumbled, but went silent at a sharp look from the black clad wizard. Phineas watched in interest, as Severus fetched the true sword of Gryffindor, and sniffed disdainfully. Godric was such a show off. Then again, what would one expect from the head of the house of foolish brats?

"Is he ready?" Albus asked with all seriousness, and the younger wizard didn't answer for a moment.

"He'd better be," Severus growled, and carefully concealed the sword in his robes, charming it to silence, and of course, himself from injury.

"Fawkes?" Severus called out gently, almost hesitantly as if he was afraid that one day, the phoenix would abandon him as well. Phineas knew that it was exactly what Severus feared.

With a blinding flash of flame, the phoenix appeared, and waited patiently for Severus to approach.

"Thank you Fawkes," a touch of regret laced those words spoken in genuine gratitude, as Severus stroked the giant bird. The phoenix only trilled softly, and nuzzled Severus' palm.

"The Forest of Dean, a goodly distance away from the camp, if you please," Severus inclined his head, and waited. Fawkes trilled in acquiescence, and Severus reached out to gently take hold of a few feathers.

Another flash of flame, and Phineas was left to blink and stare at the spot where Severus had stood only a moment before. He would never get used to this, damn it.

"Bloody show-off," muttered Phineas, much to the amusement of Dumbledore, and pretended to fall asleep.

**A/N: It might interest you to read the first chapter of "A Potions' Master's Perspective", if you haven't already, for the relevant scene of the silver doe in the forest of Dean. **


	37. A harbinger of peace

She's here, I can feel it. It is as if I can feel her tears on my face.

She cries, and I'm afraid to hope that she cries for me.

But she does, and her sorrow is like a blade, cutting into my chest, causing me pain that shears me from within to without. Here, drowning in a pool of my own blood that seems to be everywhere, the inconsequential thought of the capacity of my veins and arteries and heart spring into my mind.

It hurts too much to laugh, and all that emerges is a gurgle. One would think that at the brink of the river, there would be more significant revelations, like your life flashing by, or regrets or all of that nonsense mortals seem to attach a great deal of importance to; but here, while the very thing that kept me alive was choking the life out of my being, all I can think of was the existence of so much blood within his veins.

This is the end, I know it, I can feel it, and no amount of hope or love is sufficient to drag my weary soul and body away from crossing the ethereal waters, into the one place that could grant me some measure of rest.

But still, the galleon trembles, and the magnitude of her feelings are projected into my own, and I know that she will suffer the most. Foolish child, she lent her heart to be trampled in the end, to achieve nothing more than my own joy, fleeting as it was.

Foolish girl. Wonderful angel.

Imminent Death must make one maudlin; how else would I explain this sudden need to see her one last time, to call her name before the breath from my lips ceases forevermore, and to know that she has enough of my heart, for the thing in my own body would quietly die a traitorous death.

A shadow blocks my vision, and I shudder for a moment, preparing myself to face the possibility of becoming a meal, however fatal, for a creature as vile as could be imagined. Poetic justice, they would call it; killed by the mascot of my very own kind.

Another gurgle and a cough wracks my body, reminding me that humour was not best appreciated by my broken form. But wait; if it were what I had assumed, there should have been… _something._

My eyes fly open to meet not sickly yellow, but a brilliant emerald green, almost like… Lily!

I gasp and make to touch, but my hand stills when I realise that if I were feeling pain and discomfort, I was more dead than alive, but alive nonetheless, and if I were still alive, this would not, could not, be Lily.

Ah, it strikes me belatedly. Potter.

Instantly, I know that he is not alone. She must have accompanied him. Of all the foolish things! But then, the slothfulness that seemed to have pervaded my entire being like a cocoon bursts like nothing more than a bubble, and I act on long ingrained notions.

He must know the truth! The plans! The Blasted Bloody plans!

My mental tirade is cut short when I see her.

She moves into my vision, pain and sorrow etched in her face as surely as the tiredness surrounding her. A hand raised with Herculean effort, beckons to her, but the imbecilic, selfish brat that Potter truly is, assumes that it is for him, and leans forward, a thoroughly smack-able expression on his impudent face.

I grasp his collar to slice him to pieces with my formidable vocabulary, but my throat chooses that instant to remind me, in the most inconvenient way involving pain and burning, that it is in no shape to assist in any kind of ripping. Quite inconvenient, of course, but there is only that much one can do when said throat has been in the jaws of a vicious psychopath's equally vicious pet.

The boy has no sense, I can confidently claim in the afterlife to blessed Potter and his cronies. He just sits there blinking owlishly at me. I tighten my grasp on his collar, jerking him in the process. If I had more strength, I would clip him one, but I can feel my life ebbing away.

Dear girl, she hands him a vial, and urges him to collect the memories I'm trying to extract for his use. Our eyes meet and I hold her gaze, while the boy is scrambling to catch all of the silvery-blue strands.

Her warm, sorrowful gaze eases my discomfort, and I can feel a strange numbness making its way through my body. I mouth the words I have been wanting to say, but too afraid to utter, lest it break a heart, mine or hers, and I can see that she has understood.

Fresh tears flow from those eyes I could drown in, and I think myself selfish for wanting peace when my peace would cause her distress, but I know it will not be.

She will learn to love again, I hope, but I am not presumptuous enough to assume that I am irreplaceable. I hope more that I become replaceable.

I feel regret that I am leaving her this way, in the crux of this war, with nothing more than well wishes and the company of this immature brat, currently sealing the vial that my dear sweet wonderful woman has conjured for him.

Tell me, can you conjure a life that I wanted to have with you?

I turn to the boy, and tell him "Look at me, you fool! If you ever so much as let a hair on her head be harmed, I assure you that I will haunt you for eternity!"

All that comes out is a raspy "Look at me," and he turns those eyes to mine, his mother's eyes, Lily's eyes, and I find the colour most alluring, while my vision fades.

* * *

Harry and Hermione watched, with mixed emotions, as the man gasped out his last breath. Harry's mind was in turmoil, but Hermione felt a strange calm settle over her.

And then, Severus Snape moved no more.

She watched, with a feeling of love and loss, the man she had come to think of as a part of her. Harry already had risen and made his way to the tunnel, not glancing if she had followed; the pounding of his footsteps harsh in the sudden stillness that had seemed to encompass everything.

"Goodbye, my love, I promise to come back as soon as I can," she whispered, drawing her face close to his pale, peaceful one.

"I hope you are finally at peace." A sob escaped her lips, as she pressed them to his slightly cool ones. The warmth had yet to leave them.

Hermione paused to caress his cheek, and suddenly she couldn't stay here anymore. Although she hated to leave him this way, she knew he would have it no other way.

"Would you have done the same, if it were me, instead?"

Only silence surrounded her, broken by the harsh rasping of that madman, issuing yet another ultimatum.

The thought of Voldemort seemed to shake her from her trance, and she rose to her feet, gazed at Severus a moment longer, and took off down the tunnel. She would see to the destruction of that Snake Faced bastard, of that she was certain. A sense of purpose and a deep seated need for vengeance took hold of Hermione, lightening her footsteps, giving her speed, while she followed the path Severus had opened for them.

"I won't let you down, Severus. Your sacrifice will not be in vain!"


	38. One game ends

The battle was over. The side of the light had won.

Won? What did we win?

Freedom.

She mentally snorted. But at what cost?

Rows and rows of bodies, some whole, most of them not, lay there, motionless.

But it was better than the alternative.

How would we ever know?

There was no answer to that, but Hermione knew, intellectually, that this was a better outcome.

The Dead cannot be bothered with such trivialities.

And there were so very many of them.

Young, old, and the barely blossomed. Too few of the covered bundles were tall enough to reach her shoulders, or above them.

Too many of them she knew had given their lives so she could sit here and brood, and dishonour their sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

She knew one person who had given far more than they all had.

And he was currently alone, even in death. The golden galleon had fallen silent.

Hermione traced the outline of the galleon, through the cloth. It was cold.

Just like his lips, now.

A single tear made it's way down her cheek, and Hermione furiously scrubbed at it. Not now.

She glanced up, to see Harry sitting across from her, leaning against the wall in this corridor, a little removed from the entrance hall.

Harry.

He had finally fulfilled his destiny. He had felled the greatest symbol of evil this side of the world, and he had died and been reborn in the process.

The Boy Who Lived Twice.

Thrice, technically, but only she and Ron knew the whole story.

And of course, the Headmaster.

The headmaster always knew everything, be it in life or in death, or after it.

Ron.

Hermione knew the kind of anguish he was in. He was mourning with his family. Harry and Hermione had left quietly, not wanting to intrude. They would have time to comfort their friend later, when he would need it more.

Friend? Hermione didn't want to pursue that line of thought. Unconsciously, she traced her lips.

It had been on an impulse. She had wanted to kiss him on the cheek, he had turned suddenly, and Hermione had found herself in a position she had least expected.

She wanted to undo it, she wanted to remove the taste of Ron from her mouth, and try and remember the feel of His lips before that.

Cool, nearly cold, and unresponsive.

Shut up, she wanted to scream, but all that came out was a tiny whimper. Harry looked up and noticed her discomfort.

"We have to bring him home," she said quietly, and Harry didn't seem to understand at first.

Hermione knew the exact moment when it struck him. A mixture of sorrow, anguish, anger and hope(?) flitted across his face, before it took on that familiar look of determination.

Harry nodded silently, and rose, offering his hand, helping her up. Hermione didn't let go, and he didn't seem to mind, only drawing her in to a sideways hug.

"What about Ron?" he asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"He's where he needs to be right now."

"And you?"

"I will be, soon," Hermione didn't raise her head to look at him. She didn't want to answer, and Harry would understand soon anyway.

She would deal with it later.

The trek to the shack was silent, with each step heavier than the next. Hermione's mind was spinning with questions and the occasional hope. Should they have informed the teachers? Should they have called any of them? Would Ron Understand? Would Harry understand, or would the small process she had to do be marred by his temper tantrum?

She felt ashamed at the last though; Harry had been nothing but supportive of her, in the most part, but she was afraid that her goodbyes would ruin the fragile companionship they seemed to have built, from shared grief, relief and a sense of freedom.

Freedom. There was that word again.

The whomping willow had been frozen. It was a small relief that they didn't have to dodge thrashing limbs to get to the knot, but that relief lasted only a short while.

Panic seized Hermione.

It was supposed that none of the Death Eaters knew of this tunnel, but she supposed someone would have found out eventually. This meant that the possibility of someone having found Severus was very real.

She sprinted forward, ignoring Harry's startled call, and kept going till she reached the outermost limbs. Here, her steps faltered, and reality of what she was about to do set it with rapidity, literally stealing the breath from her lungs.

Severus was gone. He was dead, and now she wasn't even sure if she could do what she came here to do.

Tears streaming down her face, Hermione continued on into the tunnel, uncaring of the roots that tore into her skin, or the many times she stumbled over a wayward rock. It was imperative that she see for herself.

And at last, she burst through the open door at the other end, and looked around frantically, her untameable hair whipping her face and neck, till her eyes rested on his form.

She tried to calm her thumping heart. He was still here.

But dead, a small voice reminded her.

Slowly, she made her way to Severus, still lying there in a pool of congealed blood. Her heart was wrenched from her chest to see the look of utter peace on his features, as if he were finally resting.

He was, and Hermione couldn't keep quiet anymore.

Choking on her words, half sobbing half talking, Hermione babbled, while she busied herself cleaning the blood, knitting the wound, brushing the hair from his face.

"I thought you'd been taken," she said between sobs, "I wanted to say goodbye, although I did before, I just wanted to see you one last time."

Harry watched her from the entrance, and knew that this was more than just respect for a fallen hero, former professor, or even mentor. The words sat heavy in his mind, but they were there, nonetheless, refusing to be ignored, and struggling to be accepted.

She had loved him.

He had been too absorbed in his own world to notice that his best friend was in love with the very man he had wanted to kill on sight, just a few hours ago. He flinched at the many times he had abused the man in front of her, the triumphant look he had flashed her when he had watched Snape die, and yet, Hermione had not said a word.

She must have either stopped trusting Snape, which was ridiculous seeing her just now, or she must have been playing along.

His knees faltered. She had known the whole plan, and Snape had trusted her with it. The conclusion was incontrovertible, and Harry was trying very hard not to gape or yell in frustration, or both.

Harry watched as his best friend cleaned Snape's wounds, knitted the ripped flesh, and babbled incoherently, as if he were only sleeping or even awake and listening.

She was very close to falling apart, Harry realised, and he would be damned if he let her do it alone.

Slowly, he approached her; afraid she might crumble at the slightest touch, and kneeled beside her. She startled, and her hands stilled for a second, before they resumed their ministrations, adjusting Snape's robes. She was preparing him, for… something. Like they did for funerals.

She closed her eyes, and stretched out her hands, palms up, as if receiving something, and Harry was close to panicking for his friend's sanity at this moment.

But a moment later, robes of the deepest forest green, with beautiful, yet subtle, silver embroidery, appeared draped over them. Harry was stunned, and simply watched Hermione.

"It's a spell he taught me, in case we ever needed an urgent change of clothes for anything," she murmured, running her hands appreciatively over the material, "the difference between this and transfiguration, is that this spell is permanent. The robes won't disappear if the caster were to," here she swallowed, "to die… or if anyone were to _finite _it."

Harry nodded in awe, and touched the material. It was soft and smooth, and clearly of the finest material. "Where does it come from?"

"The robes?" she shrugged at his nod, "they come from wherever the spell can find them. It takes more power from the caster; the further away it is found, or searched."

"I'm assuming these came from Diagon Alley," Harry stared at her amazed, "but that's…"

"I know," she replied quietly, "but he deserves to be dressed well, Harry."

"Yes, he does."

They didn't say anything more for a few minutes, and Hermione cast another spell to replace the robes on Snape's body with the newly found – or borrowed – robes. Harry looked around and moved to the crates in the corner, that they had used as cover earlier.

He coloured at the thought; they had actually hid behind crates, which were the only defence between the Dark Lord and themselves. How utterly naïve they were.

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he pointed his wand at one crate on the floor, and concentrated, watching as the box changed and morphed into it's new form.

"Harry, it's…" Hermione breathed behind him, "… probably exactly what he would have wanted."

Harry blushed and turned around to find Hermione staring at him with tears fresh in her eyes. "I'm pants at transfiguration, 'Mione," he shrugged, "but I hope it's enough."

Hermione launched herself onto him, and nearly knocked them both off balance. "Thank you," she sobbed into his shoulder, and Harry clung onto her, grateful that he could help Hermione in some way.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, and then Harry gently pushed Hermione away, and reminded them both of the task at hand.

Together, they both carefully levitated Snape's body into the gleaming black coffin that Harry had conjured. It had no marking on the body, and simple white satin padding inside.

"The Dursleys had taken me to a neighbour's funeral once," he spoke, "only because the neighbours had seen me around, unfortunately," he gave her a wry grin, which she returned.

"It's strange," she murmured, running her hands along the rim of the coffin, experimentally closing the bottom half of the lid, "I'd never thought I'd be the one doing this, right now."

Harry said nothing, and Hermione seemed to have reached the end of her words. He followed suit when she moved to one end and levitated the makeshift casket off of the ground. He cast a shield over the floating casket and became the second pallbearer.

No words were exchanged as they made their way up to the castle, where no doubt, people would have noticed their absence, if not already have sent out a search party.

Then again, people could be too consumed by their own grief, to notice. Whatever the case, Hermione was sure they would be impossible to miss with the large coffin floating between them. A hysterical laugh bubbled up within her throat, and the coffin faltered in front of her; Harry didn't seem to notice, and she quickly composed herself, and followed.

She knew that it had not sunk in yet, and she was particularly relieved for it; she could continue her delusion for a little while longer. There would be mourning, later on, when there would be too few people to notice and question. She would not have his death and sacrifice marred by wagging tongues that had little else to do.

Taking a deep breath, Harry helped her levitate the coffin up the front stairs, and suddenly halted. Hermione looked at him questioningly, but he only shook his head and deviated their path towards the dungeons.

Hermione understood; it was too risky to assume that everyone would have realised the true story, or even been able to forgive his actions of last spring. She sighed, and the sound seemed loud in the silence of the dungeons.

Slowly, they made their way down the numerous stairs and turns that seemed ingrained in them, six years given to learning the shortest routes, the trick stairs, and the easiest paths.

Too long it seemed to take them, but eventually, they reached the Potions' classroom. They were both sweating from the long trek, and the combined magic. Gently, she lowered the casket while Harry unlocked the door.

A moment's rest, and they were off again, moving the casket into the classroom, where they set it to rest on the teacher's table.

"We can't leave it here," Harry commented, reflecting her thoughts out loud, "Do you know if his personal chambers are still here?"

She nodded; Severus had confirmed the same the last time they had met. His chambers had locked themselves up and resisted entry end of sixth year, when he had fled, and he had restored the wards; the strongest he knew.

Hermione was sure that Voldemort would have been hard pressed to break them, if not unable. She only hoped that she was keyed in somehow, or it would mean blasting a hole through the wall, and it was not a good time to do that.

Leaving Harry in the classroom, as guard, she walked out into the corridor, and moved in the direction to Severus' chambers. Approaching the wall where she expected the door to be, she trailed her fingers lightly along the coarse wall, willing the door to open.

Almost hesitantly, a door shimmered into existence, and Hermione's heart danced a little. He had keyed her into the wards! Although how he managed that without her knowledge, was a different matter, altogether. The only thing that mattered is that he had given her control of his most personal belongings. If he had given her access, he had trusted her enough to use her discretion.

Murmuring his name, she placed her hand on the door, and it emanated a low thrum, startling her. Willing herself to be calm, and remembering his last set of enchantments of a similar nature, she allowed all of her sincerity to flow through to the forefront of her mind. A moment later, the thrumming stopped and Hermione was half afraid that the door would vanish, but it swung it noiselessly.

Releasing a breath Hermione didn't realise she had been holding, she stepped into the darkened chamber, her footsteps hesitant. The door swung closed behind her, and she felt a momentary sense of fear, before the torches flared to life, bathing the room in a soft glow.

Knowing she had little time, she resisted her impulse to explore Severus' sanctum-sanctorum, and sent out a patronus to Harry, giving him directions to reach the entrance to Severus' chambers.

Hermione fidgeted, and moved a little around the chambers, trying very hard not to enter his bedroom, which was a little ways off in a corridor that ran from what she presumed was the sitting room. She was nearly overcome by the temptation, when Harry's stag burst into the living room.

"A little help here, Hermione, it does look odd waiting out here with a floating coffin, you know?"

Despite herself, Hermione smiled, and the door swung open, admitting a sweating Harry. He wobbled a little but managed to not bump the casket anywhere, before setting it down in front of the fire place. Wiping his brow on his already grimy sleeve, he straightened and looked around.

"So this is where the bat lived eh?"

"Harry!"

He grinned sheepishly, "sorry 'Mione, old habits and all that, y'know? Have you been here before?"

She shook her head sadly, "no, this was always off-limits; it's very sweet of him to key me into the wards though."

He grimaced, "sweet is **not** a word I'd use for him, but yeah, it was pretty cool."

She mock glared at him and he came to stand beside her, "'Mione, don't hex me if I ask you this, but it's true, isn't it?"

She sighed warily, "what is?"

"You and him, you were… together?"

She swallowed, not sure if it was wise to answer straight off, "Why do you ask that?"

He shrugged, "it's just how I see it, since we've come to carry out this… thing," he put an arm around her shoulders, "I don't claim I'd understand it, if it were, but I promise I'll try."

"Only hours ago you wanted to kill him in the most painful way possible."

He winced at the utter chill in her voice, she was right though, "that was before I realised that he was on our side all along."

She pushed away from him and knelt by the box, trying not to cry, "So it's just that then, 'Oops! Sorry!' and everything will be undone? All the things you said, all the things you've done?"

"Come on Hermione… I'm really sorry I was that way, but you'd be too, if he'd have killed someone you think of as family!"

"We all liked Dumbledore, Harry," she said softly, "And Sirius was not his fault, you know. It's not right that you use him as a scapegoat for your anger."

She didn't have to turn around to know he was fuming, but it was high time someone told him things as it were, "whatever he did, he did for you, you know."

An uneasy silence that hung over them, and Hermione couldn't bear it too long; she opened the lid of the casket, slowly and reluctantly. She needed to see him, one last time, before it became public; she knew that she wouldn't have this privacy then.

Harry seemed to understand this, because she heard his retreating footfalls and the quiet opening and closing of the door to the corridor. No one would enter unless she chose it, and this meant that she had all the time she wanted.

She raised her eyes from Severus' chest to his face, and cried afresh at the sight. His pallor had turned a tad grey, but apart from that, he looked, well, like he was asleep. No frown to mar his features, or sneer to twist his lips. He was uncommonly handsome to her eyes when he was at peace, and the forest green really was the perfect colour for him.

Gently, she ran her fingers over his eyes, his forehead, his beaky nose, and that proud and arrogant chin. The warmth had left him, but the preservation spell she had cast was good enough. Hermione felt stubble that he had not bothered to shave off the night before; she left it that way. She ran her fingers down his cheek bones and pulled the collar away, to reveal the scars. With trembling digits, she felt for a pulse, and fervently hoped that she would find one.

She was disappointed of course. No life registered under her exploring hands. She leaned forward and laid her head on his chest, listening for anything, anything at all that could bring him back to her.

Her tears soaked into the soft silken material of the robes, and she nuzzled the fabric, relishing momentarily the feel of it on her cheek. At length, she sat back and re-cast every single diagnostic spell she knew, frantically looking for a sign, but as she approached the end of her arsenal, the reality sank in.

He was never coming back.

The truth hit her like a ton of bricks, and she had to use the floor as support. The room spun about her, and time slowed. Had she really been so foolish to think that it would be all happy endings?

She sank her face into his midriff and sobbed, uncaring if she was ruining the robes, uncaring if her voice echoed around the chambers as she damned the war, the gods, Dumbledore, herself, Voldemort, and Severus most of all.

"Damn you, you stubborn man! Couldn't you have lived? Why the hell did you have to get mixed up in this whole bloody mess?" She pounded his chest, and sank into a weeping heap beside the coffin. It was all so unfair! Couldn't she have died too? Anything would be better than this feeling in her chest, as if it were ripped open and being filled with burning coals.

Hermione longed to claw her heart out of her chest, if it stopped the pain; it was too much to bear. She would welcome the very arms of death if it meant this misery would leave her be.

She begged that he come back to her, but no amount of pleading or promising made even a finger move, or part his lips. Finally, having spent what energy remained, on fruitless wishes and screams, Hermione fell asleep on Severus' carpet, oblivious to the world.


	39. The dust settles

The rest of the night (what little of it was left) was spent repairing crumbling walls of import, and tending to the wounded. House – elves joined in the effort, supplying food, medicine, and more than often, their fantastic magic for healing and building.

When Harry and Hermione had sealed up Severus' chambers and Floo, and returned to the great hall, Minerva had caught hold of them, and demanded where they had been. Both Harry and Hermione had politely and firmly refused to indulge her, earning a frown from their head of house, now headmistress of Hogwarts, and left to speak with the Weasleys.

Molly was devastated, and Arthur was close behind. George was stone quiet, which worried them more, and Ginny was quietly weeping on Ron's shoulder. Bill and Fleur were in the periphery, speaking solemnly with Charlie.

After hugging everyone, and offering their support, they gathered Ron and quietly broke away from the group. Ron was subdued, but worked diligently alongside them, carrying out odd jobs. Keeping busy was good for him, as it was for Harry and Hermione, who drowned themselves in the work. Hermione felt a bit better than the boys, lighter, although bereft; that exhaustion induced nap had helped.

Harry was showing exceptional power, not tiring even after all that he had been through, but Hermione supposed that his years at the Dursleys' had more than prepared him to work through pain, hunger and exhaustion. She felt anger, but quickly suppressed it. That would have to wait until later.

Time had lost consequence, and no one knew what day it was, or what time it was. Food kept pouring in from the kitchens, simple but sustaining, and the trio dug in, starving and exhausted, before heading off to work again.

Minerva looked harried, having the distasteful job of explaining to parents why exactly their child was dead, or missing. She tried to explain that no one was forced to stay behind, and the students had followed their own will, against their express wishes. But of course, no parent wanted to accept that, and blamed her, and the other professors for their actions. Hermione knew that it had to be hard on any woman, or man, to be in her shoes. Once, their gazes had locked, and the headmistress had given Hermione a watery smile, eyes unusually bright with unshed tears. Hermione had wanted to comfort her, but it was impossible, with all the people crowding her, asking for directions, explanations, help, and a dozen other things at the same time. Any lesser woman would have screamed and made a dash for freedom, but Minerva moved about efficiently and patiently, doing the best she could.

It was a very long time later, that exhaustion overtook the three of them, and in silent agreement, they moved out of the hall, and into the corridor outside, making their way up into the library, which could be guaranteed to be quiet and almost deserted. After the ruckus of the great hall and surrounding rooms, it was more than welcome. On their way, they saw the headmistress leaning against a wall, cane gripped tightly in her hand, staring blankly at the opposite surface, as if held all the answers.

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the elderly witch, and quietly asked Ron to go find Shacklebolt. Ron looked at her curiously, but left to do as she asked without question. Harry caught on to her thoughts, and nodded, approaching the headmistress.

"Professor," he started, but received no response. He gently shook her by the arm, and called again, "Professor!"

"What?" the headmistress startled, and looked around at Harry, "what is it potter?" she asked, weariness evident in her tone.

"Well, we need to discuss something with you, preferably in your office," he smiled at her, "please, it's very important."

She looked at him suspiciously, and then at Hermione, who nodded, and then sighed, "Can it not wait, Mr. Potter? I have several duties to attend to."

"I'm sure Kingsley Shacklebolt can do a splendid job in your stead. It is for a very important matter, Professor, and it has to be addressed very soon. We might as well rest and discuss the matter at the same time."

"You have a sound plan there, but would Shacklebolt agree?"

"Aye, I can do that, Minerva," a deep voice sounded behind them, and they turned in unison to see Kingsley coming toward them, closely followed by Ron. Hermione smiled gratefully at both of them, and stepped aside, while the headmistress and the Auror discussed briefly.

Ron moved to stand beside her, while Harry leaned against the wall, watching them carefully. A few moments later, the headmistress called to them, and they followed her in silence, to the headmistress' office.

Tea and biscuits were summoned from the kitchens, and everyone busied themselves in pouring, drinking and eating. Hermione glanced at the portraits, clearly feigning sleep, if not watching the ragtag group unabashedly. Dumbledore was snoring softly, and Hermione could bet her left arm that he was still faking it. Well, she thought, he'd better wake up for this conversation, if he didn't want his paint peeled off.

"So," the headmistress cleared her throat, garnering everyone's attention, "what is this matter that you wish to speak of? If there was any at all?"

Harry squirmed under her stern gaze, and Hermione spoke, "there is, headmistress, and like I mentioned before, it is of great import, but," she glanced at the sleeping Dumbledore, and spoke out clearly, "it would be very much appreciated if headmaster Dumbledore joined in as well."

Professor McGonagall frowned, "Ms. Granger, you know very well that he has not awoken yet."

"You'll find that _that_," she indicated the headmistress' statement, "is complete nonsense that the headmaster had you believe till now."

"Ms. Granger," the headmistress bristled, "I'll have you know…"

But her statement was cut off by a very familiar drawl, "you'll find, _headmistress_, that the Granger girl is absolutely right, much as it pains me to admit." Phineas turned to the portrait of the still faking Dumbledore, "oh stop your imbecilic theatrics, Dumbledore, or I'll be forced to do it for you! Up, you old coot, Up!"

Everyone, save Hermione was taken aback at the tone, and the headmistress was gaping like a fish.

"Dumbledore!" Phineas warned and said person chuckled, surprising everyone.

"Ah, Phineas! Never thought I'd see the day you would take sides with a muggle born."

"Indeed," Phineas drawled, "I have a duty to abide by, as you know, involving a _former_ headmaster, and so do you."

The twinkle faded from Dumbledore's eyes and he looked to Hermione keenly, "It is true, then?"

Hermione bowed her head and controlled the tears that were threatening to spill over, "It is; headmaster."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I felt it, but was unsure. How did it happen, do you know?"

"Nagini."

Rage flashed through Dumbledore's eyes and Phineas cursed loudly. Mineva, who had had enough of being left out, and angry beyond words to know that Dumbledore had tricked her, spoke up.

"Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on here??"

That certainly caught everyone's undivided attention.

Hermione decided to start off, and spoke in a steady voice, "Headmaster Snape died this evening," she continued over the protests forming on Minerva's lips, "and before you say anything, I'd like to attest that he was still on our side."

The headmistress looked between her and the nodding Harry, and the quiet Ron, and snapped, "how can you possibly say that! You, Harry! You said he killed Albus! Then how can he be on our side?"

"Especially because he killed headmaster Dumbledore," Harry spoke quietly, "he was under orders from Dumbledore himself."

"What?" the headmistress squawked, "Albus, these children cannot be serious…."

All protests died on her lips as she saw the guilty expression on Albus' face, and the smug smirk on Phineas'.

"And how did you know of this?" she demanded from Hermione.

Hermione steeled her self, and with a quick glance at Harry, she replied, "Because I was in contact with headmaster Snape, ever since last spring. He helped us locate the Horcruxes, and taught us how to destroy them, sometimes even providing us with the tools to do so." Here she paused, letting the words sink in. Even Ron looked bewildered; "Headmaster Snape also informed us of plans and kept us safe throughout our time away."

Her voice caught on the last few words, and she slumped into her chair, watching the look of utter disbelief and shock on the headmistress' face. "There, see how it feels to be left out for a change," she thought viciously, and looked to Dumbledore, "it's your screaming baby, now," she added mentally, raising her eyebrow at him.

What ensued would remain in Hermione's memory forever. Minerva McGonagall, stern head of house, headmistress and the primmest of the lot, exploded with such colourful invective, it would have turned a sailor beet red. Hermione fought from laughing at the look of pure chastisement, like a common student caught out of bed after curfew, that came over Dumbledore. Phineas, of course, had no reservation, and laughed long and loud, at the utter gall of Minerva McGonagall.

Harry looked like he wanted to disappear, and Ron was turning six shades of red, flushing at the very un-ladylike behaviour of the headmistress. Hermione merely poured some more tea and waited for the show to end.


	40. Come Home, Severus

She couldn't help the curiosity that tried to overcome the solemnity and the grief that preceded this event. She tried not to be too nosy or ask too many questions.

She definitely tried to stay out of his way.

In the end, Georg had told her in no uncertain terms, that if she intruded one more time, he'd have the headmistress intervene.

That had tempered her inquisitiveness, to some extent.

"Unless you want to be included in the picture, I'd suggest you get out of this room, Ms. Granger."

Her face must have registered something, because Georg's glare softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You can watch from the other side of the wall, dear child. I can teach you a spell to make the wall transparent, if you'd like."

She shook her head, "I know it, but," she sighed, "I would have liked to see it firsthand."

Georg's lips quirked into a smile, and he shook his head. "It would not be... appropriate to risk it, Ms. Granger," he tilted his head and she nodded, before she turned to exit the room.

"Mr. Schrodinger," she spoke, hand on the doorknob, "would you please make sure that all the books are available to him?"

The other man didn't reply, and Hermione turned partially, to find him looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

"He was... very fond of them," she explained, trying not to stumble over her words.

Georg surprised her by chuckling and shaking his head, "didn't think Severus Snape would have someone who actually liked him."

His comment made her bristle, and she opened her mouth for a biting reply, but Georg put his hands up in a placating manner.

"It's none of my business, and Professor Snape is a hero, I know," he put his hands down, "I will do my very best work, Ms. Granger. He will want for nothing, that can be within his reach." He bowed a little and Hermione smiled.

"That's all I ask, Mr. Schrodinger," she replied before exiting the room, and hurrying into Severus' private office, where she faced the wall and closed her eyes, raised her hands in front of her, touching the rough hewn stone with her palms.

When she opened them again, she could clearly see Georg waving his wand, and felt the magic pulse. Every conceivable surface was covered in a fine shimmer, and Hermione couldn't help the small gasp that left her lips. It was as if Severus' living room was glowing, and it looked, for lack of a better word, magical.

Georg extracted some items from his pocket and arranged them on the floor, where they enlarged and grew into his easel, equipped with a large canvas, a medium sized wooden box, and a stool. Hermione figured it would take some time, and settled down in Severus' chair, turning it to face the wall. Locking the door for a good measure, lest someone barge in and demand what exactly she was doing in the professor's chair, she tucked her legs underneath her.

Georg was chanting something, and Hermione watched in wonder as the shimmer started to move into the room. Like a glittering mist, it snaked in from all the surfaces and seemed to fill the very breathing space in the chamber. Hermione panicked, and had to stop herself from throwing the door open. She told herself that Georg was a veteran at this, and he knew what he was doing.... but it still looked as if Georg was cocooned! How did he breathe in there?

Minutes ticked by, and Hermione glanced nervously at her watch; what was Georg doing? It was over a quarter of an hour, and still no movement ensued. Should she call the headmistress? Should she go in there and see what was happening?

But Georg had told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to disturb him in any way. Did Severus have some wards up to prevent this? But Georg would have checked all that, yes?

Yes?

Hermione bit her lip and rose from the chair, to pace the length of the now misty wall. She could interfere, and if she did, it could be that she would do more harm than be of help, not to mention that if the process (whatever it was) was interrupted, it would have to be re-started.

Being so lost in thoughts, Hermione missed it when the mist began to dissipate, from the centre of the room, so when she raised her head to look at the wall, the mist had cleared considerably. She let out a soft "oh!" and watched as the hazy outlines of Georg became visible. Wand out and ready to assist him, should he need it, Hermione watched warily at the scene unfurling.

The mist was disappearing, but not into Georg's wand, as she had expected, but into the canvas he was pointing at. Hermione's face registered every little bit of childish wonder, when she saw the shapes forming on the surface, and she was tempted to get a closer look.

The shimmer was being sucked into the canvas, and she realised that it was capturing the _essence_ of the room. It was a slow process, and obviously required a lot of concentration, and power, if Georg's condition was anything to judge by.

Hermione shifted her focus to the artist, and saw that he was perspiring profusely, and exhaustion was etched into every line oh his weathered face. She added many more questions to her already lengthy list, and turned her attention to the picture.

It was nearly complete, and it stunned her to see how accurate the picture looked, even from this distance. Her stomach tingled at the thought of seeing Severus appear in the picture, but she held her ground. No use interrupting Georg now.

After what was another twenty minutes or so, Georg examined the room, and compared it with the picture in front of him, very carefully. Seemingly satisfied with his work, he lowered his wand, and wiped his brow with his sleeve, setting himself down on the stool quite heavily.

Turning to the wall where he had supposed her to be, he beckoned to her, and Hermione was hard pressed not to charge into the room like an over-excited bear.

Once she had reached the door, she undid the charm on the wall, and took a deep breath before opening the door and entering the living room swiftly.

Georg looked at her and smiled weakly, gesturing for her to see. Hermione made her way to stand beside him, and fully prepared herself to face Severus at his worst.

"Where is he?" she asked, confused that the picture was of an empty living room, with a cheery fire in the grate.

Georg looked at her puzzled, "I beg pardon?"

"Err, the Professor, shouldn't he be here?"

"Why _should_ he be there, Ms. Granger?" Georg was obviously confused with her expectation.

"Well, it is his portrait, isn't it?" she demanded, and Georg chuckled, and patted her arm.

"He can choose to come, or not, Ms. Granger. Surely, you knew that?"

"Umm, no, " she added sadly, "I thought..."

"That he would be expected to return, or worse, _forced_?" there was a hint of steel in Georg's voice and Hermione shook her head.

"I thought he would come," she shrugged simply.

"Ms. Granger, portraits are not made for ourselves," she turned to him frowning, and he continued, "they are made for whomever has passed."

"Think, dear girl," he smiled kindly, "otherwise would you not agree that his portrait in the headmaster's chamber would have appeared already?"

She gasped, and her expression turned to one of horror, "could that mean he was not...?"

"Nonsense!" Georg snapped, and then calmed down, obviously disturbed, "he has passed, but at the time of his death, he has a choice; his portrait at the headmaster's office will appear should he choose so."

Hermione breathed deeply, and nodded in understanding; "now what do we do?"

"We wait, of course. How long, I cannot say, but if he has not appeared by the end of the day, we will have to seal the portrait. It will not hold for very long."

"These things have a time limit?"

"Of course! This is very old and very powerful magic, and it drains the caster," he gestured to himself, "the moment the edges start to seep out, I have to seal the portrait, to preserve the picture at least. "

"What if he doesn't return?" she asked, dread creeping into her voice.

Georg shrugged, "there is nothing we can do, in that case; you can choose to keep the painting apart, forever empty, or destroy it, or let the other portraits use it."

Hermione shook her head; Severus would haunt her for eternity if she let strangers traipse through his living room, painted though it was, without his express consent.

"Is it safe to cast other spells?" she asked the painter.

"Yes, it is safe, but I'd recommend you maintain a distance from the painting," he warned.

Nodding, she summoned the arm chair to herself, and settled down to keep vigil. She looked at the other man to find him staring at her in surprise.

"What?" she asked him, if a bit snappily.

"Nothing. I was wondering how you seem to have made yourself comfortable in this room, as if you belonged here."

She controlled the colour rising to her cheeks, and the anger that was rising; "I have been in and out of this room too many times to count, since the headmistress has allotted me the task of cataloguing his possessions. So," she glared at him, "it has been that I have practically lived here for the past week."

Georg grinned at her toothily, "no offence intended," he placated her, "just curious."

Hermione didn't reply, choosing instead to watch the painting. Eventually, an elf brought in lunch, and they resorted to small talk, with Georg answering her many questions with surprising patience. Georg seemed to get back much of his strength after polishing off a large amount of food, and Hermione found herself coming to treat the other man with less suspicion and more ease.

Still tired, Georg announced that he would nap for a while, and transfigured his stool into a plush wingback, where he promptly got comfortable, and closed his eyes.

Left to her own devices, and reluctant to leave the room, Hermione walked over to the bookcases, selected a book randomly, and settled down to read.

_Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath steel'd,  
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;  
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,  
And perspective it is best painter's art.  
For through the painter must you see his skill,  
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,  
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,  
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.  
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:  
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me  
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun  
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;  
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,  
They draw but what they see, know not the heart._

Hermione smiled and re-read the sonnet, the lunch settled comfortably in her stomach, lulling her to a gentle cosiness. Before she knew it, Hermione was fast asleep, book resting on her stomach, oblivious to the world.

"Mistreating books again, are you, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she sat up, looking wildly about. Had she been dreaming again? But the voice had seemed so real. Belatedly, she drew her eyes back to the painting, and nearly flung herself out of the chair, in haste to reach the source of the voice. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she reached out a hand to touch the surface.

Her hand was jerked back violently, and she cried out in pain.

"Don't touch the painting, you silly girl!" Georg bellowed, and Hermione winced, both at the pain in her wrist and the volume of his voice.

"Unhand her!" Severus hissed, looking very menacing for a painting. If Hermione and Georg didn't know that paintings could hex as much as a squib, they would have been more worried. But the tone of his voice did hit home, and Georg let go of her, not before pushing her to the side.

"Took your time getting here, didn't you," Georg smirked at the fuming man, and examined him closely.

Severus felt doubly angry at the scrutiny, nearly like how vegetables might be purchased at a market, but clenched his teeth and folded his hands across his chest.

"Seems fine; any problems moving about, professor? I can see you have no problems talking."

Snape gave him a glare, but shook his head, and Georg stepped back, turning to the wooden box he had brought with him. Inside, lay a large tub of whitish liquid, which smelled a lot like turpentine, making Hermione grimace a little.

Transfiguring the wingback, back into the stool, he levitated the tub to rest on it, and rummaged in the wooden box for a while, muttering and sniffing, before emerging with a broad brush, of many different hues.

"Peacock feathers," he explained to Hermione, before dipping the brush into the tub. "Now, professor, this will feel strange, but try not to leave the painting, alright?"

Severus merely raised an eyebrow and looked at Georg in disdain.

"Here we go, " the painter exclaimed, and to Hermione's horror, proceeded to paint the surface with the murky liquid.

"What are you doing? We can barely see underneath that!"

"Are you presuming to teach me my job, Ms. Granger?" Georg snapped, all semblance of patience having evaporated, "from the time you have been in my company, you have done nothing but question my methods!"

Hermione felt ashamed, and she averted her eyes, "sorry," she whispered, and stepped back.

Glaring at her, he resumed painting, muttering under his breath, whatever he was saying made Severus smirk and turn to Hermione.

She resisted sticking her tongue out, and Severus' smirk was wiped off his face when the liquid touched his form. He shuddered, and cringed away, and Hermione barely held back another comment.

Finally when the entire surface was coated, Georg turned to her and spoke curtly, "I'd suggest the painting size be increased to 6 feet by 4 feet, there is a lot of detail."

Hermione nodded, and Georg expanded the canvas, before he pointed his wand at it, and executed a series of complex movements, chanting something very song-like, in a language she couldn't understand. Momentarily, the painting's surface absorbed the substance. Severus was a bit miffed, she could tell, but she could see him better, now that the painting was bigger.

She couldn't help the sad smile that broke out on her face when Georg pronounced the painting finished, before decorating it with a dull bronze frame. Severus remained quiet which, Hermione assumed, meant that he was not unhappy with his current setting.

Hermione thanked Georg, who reminded her that she should be careful with the painting, especially while shifting it. Packing his belongings, Georg bid Hermione good-day and exited the room quickly. She wondered why he was in such a hurry to get out, but shrugged and turned back to Severus.

"Where am I to be hung?"

Hermione steeled herself for his response, and murmured, "Grimauld place; this was Harry's commission."

Severus was completely quiet for a second, and then sank wearily into the nearest armchair. "I'm doomed. The brat will want to talk until the paint has peeled off."

Hermione grinned, pleased that at least he was not flying off the handle, "he was just being thankful."

Severus sniffed noncommittally, and didn't speak. Hermione smiled, and touched his face with her fingers, "I've missed you so," she breathed.

He looked pained, "I cannot feel your touch as much as would like to, but there is a sensation, of sorts."

She smiled sadly, tears gathering in her eyes, "Serves you right for going and dying on me."

He smiled wryly, "Indeed."

She settled back down into the armchair, and started to fill him in, occasionally asking a question, but mostly relating events, till it came to the end of the war.

"What of my body?" he asked, his face expressionless.

"We cremated it," she worried her sleeve, "I didn't think you'd have wanted it otherwise."

"Hmm," he scratched his chin, "who do you mean by 'we'?"

She shifted in her seat, "Professor McGonagall, Harry and I."

"Minerva," he paused, "has forgiven me?"

"Yes," she smiled up at him, "Dumbledore finally stopped feigning sleep, and told her the entire truth. She was livid, let me tell you that," she grinned, remembering that day, "Dumbledore was hard pressed not to run from the frame, at the kind of anger she showed."

"No doubt, at being left out," he said, tonelessly, and Hermione snapped into attention.

"No, you silly man! She was most angry that she was forced to believe her closest friend would betray her so! She gave Dumbledore such an earful over having taken advantage of you! Can you not believe that she cares for you?"

"I had hoped," he turned away, not meeting her gaze.

"Then know it!" she snapped at him, "she cares for you, and so do I. Quit acting unloved for a moment!"

Severus didn't respond, but gave her a long look, before getting up from his seat, and stepping forward, "I'm sorry I left you," he said so quietly, she almost missed it, "I had not a chance to fight it."

Hermione cried freely, and placed her hand over his heart, "I know, Severus Snape," she sniffled, "if ever there was a man who could fight it, it was you, you stubborn man; I know you tried."

They stared at each other, and a moment later, Severus spoke up, "could I speak with Minerva a moment? That is, if she consents to my presence."

Hermione nodded, and stepped back, "I'll have someone come to call on you, when you're ready?"

Severus nodded and sat back down, "I shall await your summons."

She giggled at his formal tone, and left the room, lighter for having finally talked to him. She couldn't ignore the pang in her heart; she would never hold him again, as long as she lived, but this was all she could have for now, and she was glad he had come to her.

Hermione ran all the way to the headmistress' office, eager to tell Minerva the news.


	41. Home

"So this is it, huh?"

"I suppose so."

"Are you ready?"

Hermione took a deep breath "As ready as I can be."

He proffered his arm for her, and she gratefully took it. Her knees were too shaky to hold her up on their own.

"Nice of him to do this, considering."

"Frankly, nothing could have surprised me more."

He shrugged, "after all this time, I am rarely surprised."

"Still," she looked back to the street they were walking up, "I knew he cared for me, but this was something wholly unprecedented."

If her breath caught on the last few words, Harry didn't seem to notice it, and they walked in silence for a few minutes.

"What do you think it will be like?"

Hermione didn't respond immediately, but after a moment she sighed, "he had once mentioned it in passing, in his exact words, it was 'something he was undoubtedly stuck with'."

"So I take it, you've never seen it?"

She shook her head, "it feels so strange, you know?"

Harry chuckled and slowed down, pulling her to a halt with him; "I know," he said, and then resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

Hermione didn't press him; after all, Harry had been surprised himself, summer after fifth year.

"Well," Harry spoke, interrupting her thoughts, "this is it."

Swallowing a lump, she raised her eyes to what was undoubtedly, Spinner's End.

She knew Harry was watching carefully for her reaction, so she kept her face blank, "Severus was right, it isn't much, but," she turned to look at Harry, "I guess it can be improved."

"Do you want to go in?"

She breathed deeply, and placed her hand on the locked gate; it swung open immediately, recognising her; "Better now than later, yes?"

Harry nodded and followed her in. The garden, if it could be called that, was overgrown with weeds, and a right mess at that. The small stone cobbled path was nearly overwhelmed with grass and other things, and Harry was sure one corner of the garden was slowly turning into a marsh pit.

Still, he said nothing, and halted beside her, at the door.

"Go, on," he urged her, and Hermione raised her wand, making sure it was concealed well - this was a muggle neighbourhood after all - and placed the tip on the door. Something crackled and fizzed, and Harry was half prepared to shield Hermione and himself, when the unmistakable 'click' of a lock opening was heard. They both expelled a breath they were unconsciously holding. The door swung inside silently, revealing a nearly dark and musty smelling corridor.

"Wands at the ready," Harry said unnecessarily, and the two of them entered the home of Severus Snape.

"If this doesn't make it legal, I don't know what will," he muttered, and led the way, lighting all the torches with a flick of his wand.

"I still can't believe he did this," Hermione spoke quietly, casting a wide _scourgify _around what they supposed was the living room.

"I can," Harry replied, following her lead, and opening the windows. Quietly, they went different ways, exploring, cleaning and assessing.

After a while, Harry returned to the kitchen, having given it a cursory glance previously, and cleaned it up. It was a great thing, being a wizard of age; it made cleaning a much more tolerable experience. He shuddered at the thought of having to clean all this by hand.

He'd take the slimy cauldrons any day.

Another few spells and open windows later, he decided that this was a solid structure, and a good bit of fixing up would make it good as new. It would have been quicker with more hands, but that was a thought for later.

He missed Dobby sorely; he was hungry, and tea would have been good. Fortunately for him, Kreacher still lived (and cursed profusely).

"Kreacher!" he called, and was startled by the immediate 'crack' that resounded in the empty kitchen. Damn, he still hadn't gotten used to that!

"Yes Master?"

"I need you to gather any house-elves who might help you, and get this house cleaned up. But," he shot a warning look at the elf, "if I hear anything that might interest the neighbours, it will not be good for you. Is that understood?"

A hint of fear registered in Kreacher's eyes, and he bowed obsequiously, "Of course Master, as you wish."

Harry decided to keep a watch on him anyway; that old thing was one nasty piece of work.

He exited the small kitchen, and moved into the living room, where he found Hermione lovingly running her hands over the books that seemed to cover every conceivable surface. Harry chuckled, it was paradise to Hermione, should there be obscure books to interest her.

She looked up at his laugh, and smiled in return. "Thank you for coming here with me," she spoke softly, not meeting his eyes, "I don't think I could have done this alone."

Harry walked to stand in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders, "hey," he said softly, "I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?"'

"I know," she raised her eyes to his. Harry had grown taller since they had left school, and was nearly as tall as Ron, but he would never grow to be as tall as Severus had been.

Thought of Ron and Severus were never good for her. She hugged Harry tightly, and cried into his shoulder. Harry, jaw set in grim determination, patted her hair and shushed her.

Hermione wondered what had happened to her life. First her parents, who refused to speak with her, then Ron, who was being an utter bastard about everything. It still hurt, the accusations he had flung at her so carelessly. It hurt even more because she had thought Ron had loved her, if not been in love with her. He was supposed to be her best friend!

She knew that she was feeling sorry for herself, even though Harry had suffered too. Everyone had suffered, and lost people they loved, physically or otherwise. Ron's jealousy was childish at best, and Hermione had told him so, before she had slapped him and run from the room at Grimauld.

When Harry joined her a little while later, she knew Ron had left. Their little dream of living together at Grimauld has fallen apart, and Hermione had wondered if it had ever been whole in the first place.

That night, somehow, had signalled the end of the trio. Harry was torn between Hermione and Ginny; he wouldn't listen to Hermione's pleas to try and salvage what he had with Ginny. In the end, it seemed to sink into Harry that he had changed, and Ginny was still expecting him to be the same person he was while at school.

When he had tried to explain it to her, Ginny had shown the famous Weasley temper, accusing him of having designs on Hermione, and said that she always knew there was something between them.

"No wonder Ron left," she had said loudly, "clearly Hermione still has a thing for celebrities. Why? Ron not famous enough for her? Or is it the money, Harry?"

Hermione, who had been listening from the corridor, had winced as if slapped; she would never forgive Ginny for such a thing.

Apparently, Harry felt the same way. He had unceremoniously told her to leave, and had never asked her to return. Neither did he answer the owls from the Burrow or any of its inhabitants, even though Hermione had begged him to re-consider.

"We're too different," he had told her sadly, "I guess it was all just a childish dream. Not everyone gets to have their happy ending, Hermione."

He did speak civilly to Arthur and Molly at the Order gatherings, or at ministry parties. Molly shot her evil looks at every possible occasion, but Harry was always there to make her feel better.

So when the press had started to notice that she and Harry were always together at public gatherings, they started to speculate and spin stories about them. Neither of them had bothered to disabuse the people of their notions, privately knowing the reasons why they stayed together.

It worked to both their advantages, so they let sleeping dogs lie. Skeeter had a field day, right up until the point she was carefully reminded by an anonymous letter about bugs. After that, she toned down a notch.

At length, Hermione quieted, and pushed away from him gently, absently rubbing the front of his shirt.

"I'm sorry I ruined your shirt."

Harry laughed, "I don't mind, 'Mione," he looked down at her and grinned.

She couldn't help but smile back. Together, they went through the house, discovered the hidden staircase, and eventually Severus' room.

"Wow," Harry breathed, "it looks so, well, _normal_."

"What did you expect? A dungeon on the first floor and rafters for hanging upside down?"

Harry laughed out loud, "something like that, yeah."

Hermione swatted him on the arm playfully, and went about trailing her fingers over everything. Sensing her need to be alone, he told her he'd check behind the other door, and left, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Hermione opened the shades, and let the light filter in. It was a modest room, and had windows on two sides, both of them facing brick walls. Her own room at her parent's house was larger than this, and overlooked the backyard garden. She wondered what it would have been like to have stayed here.

_Private_, her mind supplied, and she agreed.

A flick of her wand and the dust disappeared; the bed had been made, but the outer covers crumpled, as if someone had lay on them carelessly. Slowly, she occupied the same spot, lying on her stomach, and turning her nose into the sheets.

A faint spicy smell drifted into her nose, and Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Instantly, her mind was filled with that same feeling she had when she had been in Severus' embrace, and tears flowed afresh.

A long time later, Hermione roused herself from her position, wincing as her neck protested, and went to look for Harry. She didn't bother to hide her puffy eyes or splotchy face; he would have known anyway.

Harry was sitting on the bed of the other room, twisting something in his hand. It was a Slytherin necktie. Hermione didn't need to ask to guess whose it was, and the way Harry convulsively twisting it, she rather thought he was imagining it to have been around a pale neck.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Harry started, dropping the tie in the process.

"Are you alright?"

He shook his head, "just some nonsense, is all."

Hermione didn't push, and laid her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms about his waist. A moment later, Harry sighed, and wrapped one of his own around her waist, and rested his cheek on her hair.

"What are we going to do, Hermione?"

They sat in companionable silence, till Winky turned up calling for tea. Hermione raised her eyebrows, and followed Harry down the stairs.

Casually, she slipped her hand into his, and watched for Harry's reaction.

Harry gave her a strange look, but held her hand without complaint. She sighed; at least she had Harry.

Over tea and sandwiches, they sketched out the rough plan of renovation. Hermione didn't want to stay at her parents' during their last year at Hogwarts. It was thinly veiled hostility at the Granger residence. The burrow was out of the question for her, and she couldn't afford to rent.

"Technically, you have more than enough money to buy a house, Hermione," Harry reminded her, and Hermione smacked her forehead.

"I forgot!" she breathed, and shook her head, "I was wondering where the money would come for these renovations. I was thinking of asking you for a loan."

Harry laughed loudly, "'Mione! You inherited _everything_ that belonged to Snape, apart from a few other bequests, and before that, Dumbledore had bequeathed a _huge_ sum of money to Snape! Do you have any idea how much you have?"

Dazedly, she shook her head. Hermione hadn't heard a thing after "To Miss Hermione Granger, I give my house in Spinner's End…"

A rush filled her ears, and she had heard nothing. McGonagall had that look of suspicion about her, and Hermione had not been able to answer why Severus would do such a thing.

Harry took pity on her, and promised to contact the Goblins on her behalf, and urged her to hire legal and financial services. Hermione gave Harry an appraising look and asked, "And since when did you take so much interest in such stuff, Harry?"

Harry had blushed and mumbled something.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked, frowning in confusion.

Harry exhaled loudly and shrugged, "you know that my parents left me quite a bit, apart from the house in Godric's Hollow, yes?"

Hermione nodded, and he continued, "Well, Sirius left me everything in the Black Vault, which was quite a bit, and also Grimauld place." Hermione smiled and encouraged him to continue.

"Apart from that, Dumbledore left me a huge amount; I heard he left the same for Snape and McGonanall, as well. Professor McGonagall got his cottage in cornwall and other stuff."

Hermione was doing the math, "Harry," she asked tentatively, "the Potters, Blacks and Dumbledore were…"

"Very well off apparently," Harry ran his hand through his hair, "and not to mention the partnership that Fred," he stumbled over the name, "and George had drawn up for their joke shop, which by the way," he smiled warily, "is doing so well, since they took over Zonko's."

Hermione was stunned. The petite young man in front of her was probably as rich as the Malfoys and she said as much. He laughed again and shook his head.

"Trust me, I haven't got a candle to their wealth; they have so much all around the world, and that's only what we know of."

She frowned, "how do you know all this stuff?"

"Well, since the Aurors are ripping everything apart, and Ron is of course allowed access," his tone darkened, but he shook it off, "he can't shut up about it, and parades around the information for everyone to hear."

"isn't he supposed to keep such information to himself?"

Harry snorted, "The ministry is in so much confusion, no one cares who says what anymore, besides, it's the Malfoys; no one would piss on them if they were on fire, let alone guard their information."

Hermione was appalled, but it was true. She tied her hair into a knot, and asked him, "so who do you use for such services?"

They spent many hours sifting over the details. Gringotts was running efficiently enough, as if a war had never happened, and Hermione soon had a full statement of her wealth. Shocked at the amount of money Severus had ("I never knew anything about this!") she was hard pressed not to burst into tears. Severus had left her with a home, and money to go with. He had left her safe, and protected, at least in this way – the only way he could.

"Thank you Severus," she whispered late into the night, lying in his old bed, "I don't know what I would have done without you," and drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the day's events.

For the first time in many months, Hermione dreamed pleasant dreams.


	42. A surprising request

"Granger."

"What is it Malfoy?"

"A word, if you will."

She sighed and raised her head, to see the blonde leaning against the doorjamb, "Yes?"

"Aren't you a ray of warmth this cold evening?"

She narrowed her eyes at the unwanted company, "I have little patience for your attitude, Malfoy, so unless there is something of import, I'd suggest you leave."

Malfoy stood up straight at this, and frowned, "I understand that Severus left you something."

She spelled the door shut, which barely missed his heels. She had to hand it to him, Draco didn't do anything more than blink and gracefully step out the way. A good silencing charm later, she asked, "What are you talking about?"

He smirked, and Hermione was reaching the end of her patience, "Malfoy," she growled.

"Fine," a serious expression came over his face, "I know you got Spinner's End, Granger."

If she was surprised by his knowledge, she hid it well. Draco supposed that prolonged exposure to the company of Severus could have done that. In fact, he was sure of it.

"And if it was true?" she quirked an eyebrow, "Not that I'm saying it is. Severus Snape is not usually a generous man, let alone to an annoying Gryffindor."

The smirk was back again, "Relax granger, I won't breathe a word to anyone," he shook his head, "you're talking just like him, you know."

She stiffened, but deflated; she did look very tired. Briefly, Draco wondered if she even ate or slept. Granger did spend an awful amount of time in this cramped little office, in the bowels of the Ministry.

"Ok, Malfoy, what do you really want?"

He shrugged, "nothing much really. I owe Severus everything," her face closed up, obviously remembering, "I just wanted to speak with him in private," he paused, "if he will allow it, of course."

Hermione frowned and looked at him carefully, considering his words, "and if I agree to ask him, would the matter of Spinner's End be put to rest?"

"Of course," he nodded, not revealing that he would have kept it a secret anyway.

She thought it over for a moment and then nodded, picking up her quill, "I'll ask him. Good day."

Draco bristled at being so rudely dismissed, but gritted his teeth and rose. He did need to talk to Severus, and Granger was his only link. Potter wouldn't even deign to talk to him.

Leaving the door open, he walked down the corridor, to the Floo. He would know soon enough, till then, there was no point lingering over it.

Hermione watched the blonde leave, and sat back in her chair. It was obvious that Draco had changed. She sighed and pulled a pocket watch from her robes, as always, admiring it's carved silver lid, before pressing the edge, causing it to spring open.

It was Severus' watch; she had found it in his discarded robes, that night in the shack. She had slipped it in her pocket when Harry was busy transfiguring the casket. She supposed he knew; she certainly hadn't hid it from Severus.

He seemed pleased, she remembered, when she mentioned pilfering it, but never did pass up an opportunity to remind her of it. She smiled at the thought, and flicked her wand. The papers on her desk arranged themselves and were filed away. Another flick, and her satchel was packed and ready. Making her way out of the office, she locked and warded the room, and followed Draco's path to the communal Floo system.

She hoped there was pie.

Exiting the Floo gracefully was something she never had grasped, and Hermione blamed it on the horrible spinning sensation it generated. This meant that she more or less stumbled onto the carpet at Spinner's End, much to the amusement of Severus.

"Don't you have something else to do?" she grumbled, dusting herself off, and facing the chuckling portrait.

"Why would I miss this moment?"

She harrumphed, and called out, "Harry! I'm home!"

"Hi honey!" He poked his head out of the small kitchen, and the unmistakable smell of dinner wafted out.

"Don't call me that," she mock glared, and then went to hug him, "how was work today?"

He shrugged, returning her embrace, "more or less the same, dark wizards on the loose, yada yada."

"Paws off, Potter," Severus snapped, though with no actual venom to his words, "Go find that muggle you're so fond off."

Hermione laughed as Harry coloured and muttered under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like "turpentine." She shooed him back to the kitchen, and turned back to Severus.

"You really ought to stop teasing him."

"What? And miss the exact shade of red his ears turn?"

She looked at the carpet, hiding a smile, and shook her head, "I have something to discuss with you."

"Upstairs?"

She nodded, and turned toward the hidden staircase. The section of wall swung back, revealing the narrow staircase that led to the sleeping quarters upstairs. Hermione ascended the stairs, the torches flaring to life as she approached. Trust Severus to have a home with stairways that resembled the dungeons' above the ground.

Severus was already waiting, having probably shoved Phineas' out of his portrait, and obligingly turned around when she signalled.

"What was it?" he asked, resisting a peek behind him. The rustling of robes indicated she was changing out of them. He heard the water run, and turned around to face the empty room.

She emerged moments later from the bathroom, wrapped in one of his old bathrobes. He smirked at her, and she blushed, quickly tying her hair into a loose knot.

"Draco came by today," she approached the painting, and he stiffened, turning away to examine the walls of his old room. She had left the adolescent posters and junk as it was, claimed all the pictures of him she could find, and cluttered up the mantle with it. For someone so obsessed with order, Hermione's room was the other end of the spectrum.

"Severus?" she called, and he felt the familiar sensation as she ran her fingers over the painting, "are you alright?"

He nodded shortly, and then turned back to her, "what did he want?"

"He wanted to talk to you, if you would allow it."

"No."

"Severus," she started, but he interrupted.

"No!"

She sighed, and sat on the bed, tucking a stray curl back into the knot, "I think he's changed, you know?"

"And I will ask for your opinion when I want it."

She flinched, and he uncrossed his arms from across his chest, "That was uncalled for," he shook his head, "I did not mean it."

"I know," she smiled at him, and he was surprised at the amount of forgiveness she so casually exhibited, "I shouldn't push you on it. It's your decision."

"You trust too easily," he sat down, "and young Mr. Malfoy would not have come to you if he didn't have something to bargain with. What did he know?"

"About Spinner's End."

"How?"

She shrugged, "Minerva is the only other person, apart from Dumbledore and of course Phineas, who knows of it, outside of us. Not even the Weasleys know."

Severus frowned and rubbed his chin with his knuckles, it was a habit he had when he was thinking over something, Hermione noted fondly.

Suddenly, Severus slammed his fist against the arm rest, and Hermione winced.

"He has tried to come here," he hissed, "after all this, he tried to return to my home!"

"Calm down, Severus," she soothed, "I think that is the only explanation. He did stay here for a while after you fled Hogwarts."

Some of the anger left Severus and he slumped in his chair, "must I speak with the arrogant fool?"

She grinned at his look of despair, "if you want, Severus. If nothing, you can insult him to his face, after all those years at school."

Severus' face brightened, and his lips quirked into a smug smile, "there is that."

She laughed and went for a shower; her stomach was grumbling, and those lovely smells did nothing to help. Quickly, she dressed and went downstairs, to find the table set and ready, Harry and Severus waiting for her.

She settled down, and tucked in, the conversation drifting about while they ate. Usually, they ate in the living room, so they could include Severus into the conversation as well.

Tonight, he had opted for a glass of amber _something_ instead of tea, and his contribution to the conversation somewhat vague. Hermione knew he was going to agree; he was probably thinking of ways to harass the blonde twit.

Smiling at the prospect of it, Hermione dug into her food with relish. Harry was a really good cook, although Winky was better. With S. P. E. W. (ugh what an acronym) out of the window she had reluctantly allowed the house elf, although she insisted Harry pay her.

Winky probably had a small stash of coins somewhere in the house. It was useless to her, anyway. Slowly, the meal wound down, and when the table had been cleared and returned to its place in the kitchen, Harry turned on the telly he had installed when he'd moved in, and Hermione half concentrated on a book. Her thoughts drifted back to the blonde, and his surprising request.

She wondered if there was something more to it than met the eye. Judging from Severus' serious pondering, he probably thought the same.


	43. Truce

The mudblood had certainly improved the hovel that was Spinner's End. The front yard was clean and properly maintained, and the outside of the house was left bare bricks, as it had been, but it was noticeably cleaner. Even the picket fence was fixed and painted white.

It barely looked the place he had used as hideout for a while. His jaw tensed remembering those days, but he forced himself to relax. Tentatively, he touched the gate.

Nothing.

So the chit had removed the wards, he mused, daring to step through. He hesitated, and then continued walking up the cobblestone path.

A large brass knocker, plain and unadorned hung on the door, but he reached for the little brass button on the side. Granger had suggested he do so; more effective should they be out of hearing range of the knocker.

A shrill buzz startled him, and he snorted in distaste. How very _muggle_.

Someone was descending the stairs with all the grace of an Erumpet, and Draco smirked, ready to comment on the obvious Gryffindor-ishness of the act, but all words died on his lips when Harry Bloody Potter opened the door.

The welcoming smile that Potter had briefly displayed, disappeared when he saw who was at the door.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he fairly growled, moving to the porch while closing the door partially behind him. The porch being too small, Draco was forced to step back onto the cobblestones. He glowered in return, and clenched his teeth.

"I'm might ask you the same thing, Potter," he hissed.

"I live here," Harry said with smug satisfaction, "and you are not welcome!"

Draco masked the rage he was feeling, "I was invited here, by Granger."

Harry scoffed, and Draco raised an eyebrow, "care to place a wager, Potter? I might relieve you of some of that excessive wealth you seem to be accruing."

Harry opened his mouth to make a scathing retort, when he felt the door open fully behind him, and Hermione's soft "Oh!"

Not turning around, he spoke to her, "this git claims you invited him."

"I'm terribly sorry Harry, Malfoy. It must have slipped my mind!"

The momentary surprise registered on Potter's face, and Draco smiled a nasty smile, "Clearly."

"Now look here…"

"Harry," she soothed, putting a hand around his waist in gentle restraint, "I'm sorry, I was careless. Please come in Malfoy, Severus is waiting for you."

Harry let him pass, but not without shoving him a bit, and Hermione had the urge to roll her eyes. Boys!

She led Harry upstairs, and left Draco some privacy to talk.

Once they had retreated to the upper levels, Draco turned his attention to the large painting over the mantle, and his breath caught.

"Severus," he whispered, "I…"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco ran his hands through his hair, and came to stand close to the painting. Making sure he cast a strong privacy charm, he raised his eyes to his Godfather.

Severus noticed that the boy's eyes had turned bright, and he couldn't help a little smile, "I trust you are well, Draco."

Draco returned his smile, "As well as can be expected, Severus. How do you like it here?"

He shrugged, "it has its virtues."

Draco chuckled, "coming from you, that's practically a declaration of love for this place, and I know you did not feel so before."

Severus said nothing, but crossed his arms across his chest. Draco sighed and looked at the carpet.

"I know I've disappointed you too many times, Severus, and for that, I am truly regretful."

Severus only raised an eyebrow, and wordlessly bade him to continue.

"I wanted to thank you, Severus. Mother too. She's fled the country, and so regrets being unable to visit with you."

Severus snorted, it was just like Narcissa, the harridan. He kept his silence, watching the boy fidget.

"Was there anything else, Draco?"

"I'm working now, at the ministry, in the games and sports committee."

"Ms. Granger informed me of the same."

Draco nodded, seeming to expect this, "I do wish you would visit the manor, or what's left of it, sometime."

"You know very well I disliked visiting the manor when I was alive, what makes you think I would want to now?"

"I suppose," He shrugged, though his eyes were downcast, "I could hope."

"I cannot, Draco, and I do not wish to discuss it further."

"Every time I want to visit with you, I have to dog her heels and be kicked away," he bristled with anger, "and Potter," he spat, "he treats me like filth."

"I am unsure of Potter's treatment of you, but I can be sure that Ms. Granger is rather diplomatic."

Draco harrumphed, an undignified sound from his lips, "I suppose she is civil enough."

"It is the best you can hope for, for now," he said with finality, "forgiveness has to be earned, Draco," he continued in a kinder tone.

Draco put his head in his hands, and laughed bitterly, "I have already paid for forgiveness, Severus, aplenty."

Severus shook his head, "Draco…"

"I know," he said bitterly, "I will try, Severus."

Severus looked on at the boy, pity pulling at his heart, though he would say no such thing. The boy had made foolish mistakes in an eagerness to earn his father's respect, only to realise that his father had no respect to give. For that, Draco would pay, indisputably.

A short silence later, they drifted over more mundane topics, and it relieved him to know that the boy was truly making an effort to be his own master, not ruled by (too many) prejudices. There was hope for the boy, and he thought he had a rather decent idea how to get him back on his feet.

He would start with frequent meetings with the boy. Potter would no doubt already be throwing a grand fit right now, and would probably turn blue in the face with Severus' request.

In fact, he was quite looking forward to the shouting that would ensue. Potter did have an interesting range of expressions and colours that he could put on his face. He would probably start with a resounding "No" and take it from there. It would be Hermione, who would either threaten him or talk him into it.

With Hermione, they could bloody well be the same thing.

Smirking with unholy glee, he left the painting. The two would no doubt be in her (formerly his, which Hermione called "their") room, waiting for him to report.

Severus snorted, report indeed, what was this? Yet another spying expedition? He found them as expected, and sat in Phineas' armchair, settling in for a long evening.


	44. Epilogue

"I'm nearly a nervous wreck!"

"Don't be harry," Hermione smoothed his tuxedo and straightened his tie, "my, you clean up well."

Harry gave her a lopsided grin, and then grew nervous again, "what if it turns out a big disaster?"

"I don't doubt your ability to make anything a disaster."

He couldn't help it, and it was worth the glare he got from Potter and the scandalised "Severus!" from Hermione.

"Potter," he growled, "you're not having cold feet, are you?"

Potter whipped out his wand, and Hermione snapped, "Severus! Behave!"

"Must you admonish me as you would a wayward pup?"

Hermione grinned and shook her head, "Come now, love, you're not making matters easy for him, and besides," she raised an eyebrow, "you do want him out of your house and my sight, yes?"

Severus made a great show of thinking it over, and then sighed in defeat, "right, well," he cleared his throat, "Potter!"

The barked order had instant effect, and potter was on his feet in rigid attention, and a hopeless look on his face.

"Potter," he re-iterated, "the young girl obviously thinks of you as if you hung the moon," he said in obvious distaste, and noted the look of censure Hermione shot him, "but," he continued, "although I would never repeat this under threat of turpentine, I believe you two suit each other. There is only one way to find out, Potter."

Potter wrung his hands and Severus rolled his eyes. Hermione gave him a small smile.

"If she says no?"

Severus carefully thought out his words, "I wouldn't be so hasty, Potter, but I do believe it would be prudent if we cross that bridge when we get to that." _We?_

"You've been with the woman over a year, Potter," he continued, "if there is a future to this... relationship," he said it with a curl of his lips, "then it should be proved sooner, rather than later."

"It'll be alright, Harry," Hermione smiled and patted his arm; trust Severus to give the cold rational logic. Someone had to be the voice of compassion, "She clearly adores you, and what Severus is not saying outright," she chanced a look at the now irritated portrait, "is that he approves of her."

"I said no such thing!" he snapped at the now grinning Gryffindors, and crossed his arms across his chest.

Harry laughed, and kissed Hermione's cheek, before approaching the portrait. He hesitated and then took a deep breath.

"Severus," he said, and said man turned slightly, "this really means a lot to me, you know? I... Thank you."

Severus looked at the open and genuine gratitude on the boy's (man's?) face, and curtly nodded.

Hermione had tears in her eyes, and was watching the scene with undisguised happiness, "Go Harry! Before you talk yourself out of it!"

One last hug, and checking his pocket, Harry stomped down the stairs, and a few moments later, they heard the front door slam shut. They stood watching the empty doorway.

"I can't believe Harry's going to propose!"

Severus snorted softly, and Hermione turned, approaching the portrait, "Thank you, Severus," she said softly, tracing her fingers on his painted chest, "he really looks up to you, you know?"

"I fail to understand why," he said tiredly, and ran a hand through his hair, "he has better people to look up to."

"No," she admonished, "ever since he found out about the marauders, and Dumbledore's plans, he was really lost," she looked up into his eyes, "and then he found you... rather, we found you."

"Hermione," he sighed, and moved to sit in an armchair, "if the girl agrees, he will be gone soon."

Hermione nodded slowly, obviously saddened by the prospect, "it was bound to happen."

"And then?"

Hermione shrugged, and Severus' shoulders slumped, "Is Draco coming by soon?"

"He said he would come by for supper, to," here she assumed the best imitation of Draco, "see Potter's crushed self."

Severus chuckled, and Hermione grinned, "I still can't believe how this strange friendship came to be."

Severus rubbed his knuckles on his chin, "I suppose I can understand it."

"How so?"

"Ragged bunch of misfits, the lot of you."

Hermione smiled, "you're right. We all needed some place to go, where it would not matter who we were, or who our friends were."

Severus nodded, and stared at her profile, a small frown creasing her forehead. "Draco has changed remarkably," she whispered, "even though he is a git often, there is _something_ great that has changed."

He just watched her and let her talk.

"For instance, he hasn't called me _mudblood_," Severus hissed at this, "in ages."

Severus didn't tell her that he had promised Draco untold horrors if the boy ever called her that again, then again, he suspected Hermione knew. She was a smart witch.

Severus also suspected something else, but he kept his mouth shut. Hermione didn't realise, for the most part, that his were not the only eyes that watched her.

"Dana's a nice girl," she said, and Severus had to take a moment to understand whom she was referring to.

"I suppose Potter could have done worse," he admitted, albeit grudgingly, and Hermione laughed.

"Care to share the joke?" A familiar voice drawled from the doorway, and Hermione started.

"Draco!" Hermione said, and took an aborted step towards the blonde, "you're early! We didn't expect you till later."

"Severus, Hermione," Draco nodded to them in turn, and locked his gaze with Severus. Something passed between them, and Hermione looked between one and the other, in apparent confusion.

At length, Draco turned his piercing gaze onto Hermione, who flushed a little under the gaze. Severus was startled at how like his Father, the boy had turned out to be, and yet, so different. In the years between the war and now, he had matured into a fine young man. Severus paused to think; had it been really that long? Four years?

_Nearly Five, _a voice in his head corrected him.

"The last meeting was cancelled," Draco said in a softer tone, eyes still on Hermione, "and I thought I'd stop by, if that's alright of course?"

"It's fine," Hermione smiled at him, and nodded, "why don't you talk with Severus, and I'll just make some tea. I'll call you when it's ready."

Two heads nodded in response, and Hermione brushed past Draco to go downstairs, closing the door behind her softly.

"How have you been?" Severus gestured for Draco to sit, and did the same himself.

"Fine, I suppose," Draco ran a hand through his hair, showing how tired he truly was, "Mother sends her regards."

Severus snorted, and Draco smirked. Neither said anything for a while. Downstairs, a tea kettle whistled, and Draco raised his eyes to Severus'.

"Still making it the muggle way?"

"Indeed."

Draco shrugged, and then leaned back on her bed, supporting himself with outstretched arms, "I've taken a liking to the infernal stuff."

Severus smirked, and Draco stared out of the window, as if he found the brick wall opposite rather interesting. Severus watched him.

"Tea!"

Draco's reverie was broken by Hermione's voice and he stood, smoothing out his trousers, and made to leave.

"Coming?" he raised an eyebrow, seeing that Severus had made no move to leave.

Severus waved him on, and muttered distractedly, "Later, perhaps."

Draco stared a moment longer and then left, leaving the door open. Severus stared at the bed for a while, listening to the faint sounds of conversation drifting up from the living room. Closing his eyes, he laid his head back, and thought about how everything had changed.

This house, something that had held nothing for him but unpleasant memories, now was a sanctuary for misfits and lost souls. But eventually, he mused, everyone found a place to belong.

He had finally found his.


End file.
